My husband, you remember him—the Center of the Universe-- is an eternal optimist. Currently he’s hoping for the return of the giant bacon and egg breakfast with fried potatoes as a healthy option. I’m pretty sure he’s not going to see that in this lifetime.
“Remember,” he says, hopeful as a little puppy who sees his leash taken off the doorknob, “they used to think that smoking was actually healthy for you! Now we know it causes cancer. They used to say that meat and potatoes were a solid American dinner. Now it’s considered unhealthy. They used to think liquor was a bad habit. Now they say you should drink a glass of wine every day. Chocolate was totally off-limits as ‘junk’ food. Now they say it’s so full of anti-oxidants that it should be its own food group. They used to recommend salt tablets for people working in hot weather. Now those have been taken off the market as dangerous. Sooner or later everything changes from the ‘Healthy’ column to the ‘Unhealthy’ column, or vice versa.”
“What is this, Sleeper?” I want to know.
You remember the old Woody Allen movie where he wakes up in the future, after having been cryogenically preserved for 200 years? He, too, thinks that a big steak dinner and a fat cigar are going to be recommended by doctors as the path to a long and healthy life!
Of course, this is the man who, when he gets heartburn after eating munchy appetizers, a big steak, baked potato (loaded), broccoli and apple pie a la mode for dessert, concludes that the source of his discomfort was the broccoli. Always.
If we go out for Mexican food, he can inhale tons of chips and salsa, a Margarita, the Mondo Combo plate and a fried ice cream dessert. When he’s miserable later, in search of the Alka-Seltzer, he assures me that the culprit is the apple he ate after lunch. Riiiiiiiiiiiiiight.
So when second-hand smoke is pumped in to all hospital neonatal units because it’s deemed to be really good for healthy lung development, the CoTU will be eating like the love child of Bob Greene and Jane Brody. In other words, don’t hold your breath.
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