June 19, 2012

Me So Hungry

It's day two of The Slim Fast project, my attempt to lose eight pounds by drinking nothing but chocolate milk.

Everywhere I go there are people eating, and my stomach growls at every opportunity. I sequester myself inside, trying to ignore the myriad of commercials telling me I deserve to eat just one. It will pay off, I tell myself, donning the red bathing suit I purchased last year at Macy's.  It seems to have shrunk. Ocean water must be warmer than I thought.

My husband's potato chips are taunting me from the counter. "Come get us," they call to me. "We won't tell." I want to throw them, crush them, make them hurt, but doing so will only get me in trouble with my husband and further fuel his theory that I am becoming more like my mother every day.

"Just stay focused and breathe." I tell myself, trying to meditate the munchies away. It's no use. Visions of food mascots parade through my mind. I suddenly understand how Adam felt when Eve frolicked around him with the apple.

I retire to my bedroom where I spent the afternoon fantasizing about a naughty threesome with Mayor McCheese and a Keebler Elf. Even the Jolly Green Giant will do at this point. But not Little Green Sprout. I do have some boundaries.

Dieting sucks and I suddenly wish I were back in a time period where a little extra meat on a person was considered not only a good thing, but sexy. Of course, those people didn't live very long lives, but what years they did have, they knew how to live.

My arm itches and I begin to scratch it, noticing for the first time in my life that it is made of meat. Hmmm. Nope. Self-cannibalism is still out of the question. For now.

I start to rationalize with myself. "Hey, you don't have to drink Slim Fast. You could just consume the same amount of calories in food form. Then you get to eat and you are still on your diet."

I narrow my eyes. I have had this arguement with self before and I recall that self is quite the liar. I am not going to fall for it this time.

"Just shut up," I say, wanting to give in. My stomach growls again in response. It doesnt want to listen.

"Let's just make it through this one day," I bargain with it. "And then tomorrow we can decide if we want to do this again."

"Okay," my stomach reluctantly agrees, "but you'll be hearing from me while you sleep. I hope it's worth it."

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