Overeat overmeat. I love meat. When my nephew was much smaller, we sang the meat song together. It went like this: meat meat meat meat. Meat meat meat meat. Meat meat meat meat meat meat meat.
We also pointed at the ceiling and danced in a circle. His mother, my sister, pointed out that he actually seemed to prefer the fat that was on the meat, but no matter. It was a delicious time to be a toddler.
I still love meat, too. My body doesn't always process it like I'd like it to. I guess that'd be hoping for too much. Oldness is frustrating. I mean, I'm not old. Let's not talk about old, because I'm afraid I'll fall into age-ism territory or silly young person talking about aging territory. Then why did you bring it up? I didn't, brain, you did. I am you. Oh my.
There aren't enough hours in the day, boy howdy.