Page 20 of The Husband Diet
‘He was cheating on me,’ I said as I chopped away, pretending it was Ira’s neck over and over.Chop! goes the dick’s head.
‘What?’
‘He’s sleeping with someone else,’ I repeated, big tears plopping onto my ingredients for tonight’s special: Miserable Minestrone.
‘You see?’ she said simply. ‘Sex. It’s all men want. And if you can’t give it to them, they’ll look for it elsewhere. Now, take my advice – go reschedule the op and see if Ira will give you a few months to change.’
I whirled round to look at her.Iwas the one who had to change? On what friggin’ planet did she live? In that moment, more than ever, I realized that Marcy and I would never be able to speak the same language and that I was never going back on any of my decisions. Somewhere deep inside me there was an amazing Erica waiting to burst out of my heavy life.
8
Dieting Disasters?
It was like there was this big pink elephant in the room all these years and everyone saw it but me. I was the pink elephant who needed to go on a diet, pronto.
It was never going to be fun, but I started on Monday. And religiously broke it by the time Wednesday rolled around, despite the fact I spent most of my free time with Paul, who was lighter than me, ate properly and in small quantities – not like me, the garbage incinerator. I could eat anyone under the table. Figured I’d meet someone like him.
‘You need to do it for yourself, not for Marcy’s approval or for a man. Think of a sexy dress,’ Paul urged.
I snorted. ‘Sexy dresses and I don’t mix. Not since I was young.’
‘But remember how beautiful you were. Remember how it made you feel.’
Paul had borrowed a dress from The Wilbur Theater in Boston and put a couple of pins in it so my boobs wouldn’t spill out. I thought about it. ‘Pinchy? Pricked?’
But I had to admit, the dress had been my pass. I sighed. If I ever wanted to be a size fourteen again, I was going to do this properly. Which meant striving for a better quality of life in general. And perhaps even looking in the mirror and finally saying to myself, ‘My! aren’t you pretty. Where have you been all these years?’ But how did people manage it?
Resigned to learn more about skinny people, like fascinated ufologists studying the possibility of extraterrestrial life out there, I subscribed to an online dieting service. Now I’d heard of online dating, but online dieting?
There was so much information on the net – most of it discordant – and cartloads of (again) contrasting rules. Don’t drink (water) near your meals… drink lots of water during your meals… drink only before your meals… drink only after your meals… and finally, don’t drinkat all. The same went for fruit: eat fruit only two hours after your meal as it’ll ferment in your stomach otherwise. Stock up on vitamins before your meal so your body won’t need more. Eat mostly fruit.
Get out on your skateboard (huh?) the minute you finish your meal and burn those calories right off! Rest for twenty minutes after your meal so your blood will go straight to your digestive system and perform better. Chill out with your family before a meal so you don’t pounce on your plate the minute it’s set before you! Well, nobody has ever set my plate before me. And by the time I’ve fed everybody else (they do the pouncing), mine is frozen solid again. So don’t tell me to chill out.
Who was a gal to turn to?
And then one day, to make things clear, I received an email with The Golden Rules to Being Slim:
Always plan meals.
That was easy. I always planned very rich meals worth living for.
Cut quantities by 50 per cent.
Yeah, and because you’re still starving after lunch, have a chocolate bar to fill the void and then eat 200 per cent more at dinner.
Drink water a half-hour before, not with meal.
Glad someone’s made up their mind.
Drink water in the mornings and before going to bed.
I can’t. I’ve got a bladder like a sieve and I can’t keep getting up in the middle of the night – I need my beauty sleep.
Sit at a laid table.
Haven’t you been listening to me?
Chew everything 30–50 times.
