Irony has joined the fray. Not in a million years did I think this girl would whine about having to gain weight. Right? I’m the girl with the ever-widening ass.It’s been a life struggle to keep that damn thing under control.
“You must gain fifteen pounds,” instructs Dr. H. He’s unfazed that cancer ate my ass and boobs. I had nothing to do with it. He thinks it’s a matter of meat protein and lots of it. Men.
“I’m trying,” I whine. “If you saw what I eat, you’d never believe the weight’s not piling on.” He smiles. Does he believe me? Who knows.
It’s not a lie. Foods permanently on the naughty list are now staples. Coffee ice cream each and every night—a whole container. No kidding, every night. No gain. Does this body have any idea how difficult it was to eliminate things like fried everything, ice cream, butter and breakfast cake from my diet? I finally got to the point in life where wine is one’s sugar source and denying all other forms somehow tricks a body into believing sugar intake is low. Evidently it depends on the amount of Pinot Noir, not the mere fact of it. Who knew?
Even the Yayas agree. A few nights ago at Sisterella’s birthday, we all agree that wine is our sugar as we stare at ice cream cake. Cheers.
This gullet now happily takes in a breakfast sandwich—croissant, on the naughty list, egg, sausage and melty cheese every single morning. I’m finding without it I get positively ornery. Girls and their croissants. Just ask the French. Those bitches are rail thin. At this very moment chocolate croissants are rising in my kitchen.
Yesterday at work I ate snicker doodle cookies every time I entered the break room. Coworkers comment on naughtiness as they sneak a snack. Me? I pray it goes straight to my ass or boobs.
Four sizes down, sheath dresses are no longer hip hugging and curves are a thing of the past. Just when I think that bitch cancer has left the building I stand in the middle of a closet stuffed with clothes that don’t fit. And this time it’s not because my ass is too wide. It’s a new phenomenon to be sure. I know what’s to come.
Once all that sugar and high calorie protein, carbs and anything else I can jam into six or seven meals a day, actually hits, my ass is in trouble. Ain’t no way she’s gonna behave. She’ll probably balloon up to twice her former size, throwing her head back laughing all the while. And moderation will once again be on the menu. Pfft.
Meantime, I’ll continue ensuring Dr. H that I am stuffing my maw with high calorie protein, carbs and plenty of fruits and veggies. Veggies is pretty much a lie but every Panini needs shredded lettuce right? That counts. And every mozzarella slice needs a tomato. And basil pesto is a compliment to just about any pasta, non?
My mouth still won’t open wide enough for a big fat burger but that’s coming soon. Food nirvana will be the name of that day.
Of course, there are bigger, more important problems in the world than being too thin. What is it they say about being too rich or too thin? If only my Pinterest closet would spring to life, all would be well.
The Duchess Diaries 