As I looked over the list of desirable foods for my new diet, it read like a who’s who of edibles that cause emissions better blamed on the dog. I’ve taken to feeding Colt leftover beans to help validate my claims. On the plus side, I can eat all the parsnips that I want. Unfortunately, I’m not even sure what a parsnip is.
My mission for week one was to take a before picture (ugh!), take my measurements, and track everything I put in my mouth. My foot gets extra points for humiliation. As I measured my breasts, my hands got clammy. I moved on to my waist and felt a chill running up my spine. By the time I got to my hips, I was getting too dizzy to read the numbers. Doggedly, I pushed on to my thigh. The tape measure was swallowed up. I think it’s still in there somewhere.
Actually, I only need to lose twenty pounds to get to my target weight. Only 20 pounds! That’s like three nervous little Chihuahuas. I guess I should be thankful I don’t have to lose a golden retriever. I was told by my friend to dress “fat” when I went to my first meeting, so I wouldn’t annoy people of a girth larger than mine. What does that mean? Should I stuff extra Chihuahuas in my shirt?
My major exercise now is walking the dog. I don’t know if I can count that as an activity, since it involves a lot of stops for sniffing and marking. Usually, I leave the marking to Colt. I’ve already discovered that yoga involves balancing and breathing at the same time. Until they come up with a posture called the flailing flounder, I’m out of luck there.
Today I’m going shopping for the first time since I started the diet. That means taking my points calculator into the store. It’s a nice little gadget, but has the unfortunate appearance of a case for a diaphragm. If I buy a box of condoms, people will assume that I’m going to get lucky tonight, while they wonder why I’m poking at a diaphragm in the frozen foods aisle.
I’m actually looking forward to the challenge. I deeply admire all those people who are able to lose weight and keep it off. My vanity is at stake, my blood sugar is at stake, and my Chihuahuas just want to go home.