Gee, summer’s over and I just don’t get it. I didn’t lose any weight. Not one pound.
I don’t understand it. How can that be? I was on a diet. I thought about losing weight every day.
Each morning, when I scuffed down to the kitchen in the faded cotton gown I’ve worn since the Reagan era, and poured a cup of coffee – adding a generous helping of cream and a spoon of sugar, I chewed absently on a pastry, my mind a million miles away. I was dreaming about the slender person I was on my way to becoming.
I took my diet seriously. When I went out to lunch, (nothing special, just the Fettuccini Alfredo with prawns, or the Thai pizza with peanut sauce) I draped my napkin across my lap, licked the butter off my bread and thought about how much fun it was going to be to go shopping for clothes in a smaller size.
And I didn’t just diet. I worked out. In the afternoons, I walked all the way down the block for something cool and caffeinated – just a little pick-me-up.
I would pat myself on the back for burning all those calories by carrying that venti Frappuccino back to work. I was earning that size 6, by gosh!
At night, almost an hour after dinner, when I scooped ice cream into a bowl, (it was low fat, so I got to eat twice as much!) I’d spoon it into my mouth, let it slowly melt on my tongue and think about how hard it is for some people to keep to a diet. How sad.
But not me. I was determined. I kept thinking about losing weight. I couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for people who don’t have that much willpower.
And, next morning, I’d start all over again. Another cup of Café au lait, another pastry, another daydream.
The funny thing is, even though I spent all that time thinking about losing weight, I didn’t lose any. Weird, huh? I mean, what about the power of positive thinking? I was positively certain I’d lose some weight, and then I didn’t.
I guess I just have a slow metabolism.
So, anyway, I’ve decided that this winter I will redouble my efforts. This is going to be the year I waste away to practically nothing.
I can see myself now, sitting in front of the fireplace, a mug of steaming hot cocoa in my hand and a little smudge of (lite) whipped cream on the tip of my nose, growing thinner and thinner.
By October, when I creep into the children’s rooms to pilfer candy out of their Halloween stash, I’ll be skinny. I mean really skinny, with sharp elbows and a collar bone so sharp it makes Kate Moss look like a linebacker.
At Christmas, when I eat the cookies and fudge the neighbors send over for the whole family, because I’m just the kind of person who likes to show appreciation for a gift, I’ll do it with a clean conscious because I’m determined. I have a goal.
By the time Easter rolls around, I’ll be as light as the hollow milk-chocolate bunny whose delicious ears I’ll nibble.
No doubt about it, this is the year I’m going to lose that extra weight. I can just feel it!
In fact, my stomach is already growling with anticipation.
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