I have officially finished reading the
latest diet book as part of my New Year’s resolution. And I’ve determined,
officially as well, that it won’t work for me. This one has you replacing
lentils with bone marrow and spelt bread with chicken livers. I can’t do it.
Bone marrow. That’s right up there with tripe and pickled pigs feet in my book.
There are so many diets and so many experts
it makes for the perfect excuse to not start
a diet. It would take infinity to
research which one is best for you. Besides, it doesn’t matter how many books
about diet I read, nothing takes away from that little voice in my head. The
one that sounds suspiciously like my late mother’s and keeps saying, “Just get
up off your (&(*( and move!” If I couple her advice with eating a balanced
diet of twigs and leaves I think I’d be successful.
Honestly, though, I’d rather read and write
about diets than actually start one. Besides I’m just now coming off that Christmas
sugar high. I’ve eaten things I waited a whole year to eat and I plan to revel
in it a while longer. I’m in no hurry (see above quote from my mother).
To make matters worse, we just moved to Martha’s
Vineyard a few months ago (I’ll explain more about that later). I’m pretty sure
that means I get to spend my summer comparing myself to thin, tan women whose
sinewy legs make me want to throw in the proverbial beach towel before I even
leave the house. It’s even worse when you consider many of them have borne
children and probably managed lucrative careers to boot.
Oh I know, at just past 50 I’m supposed to
be at the age where it’s okay to say, “Screw all of you. I’m going to walk
around with my varicose veins and chin hairs exposed and you’ll like it.” Truth
is I just can’t bring myself to it. Maybe when I’m 72 or something I’ll have the
purple cape and red hat mentality but I’m not there yet. I’m more the “No
thanks honey. I’ll just stay here and shell the peas. You go ahead to the
beach” type.
My inability to stick with a diet didn’t
happen overnight. This has been ongoing, everlasting. I can remember being in
the school cafeteria in junior high eating green peppers and celery sticks
while my friends were eating Twinkies. It’s just not fair I tell you. I have yet to apologize to the poor kid whose snack I used to sneak bites of
while we were in first grade reading group. That’s why I still hide my snacks
to this day. I know there are people out there just like me who wouldn’t think twice
about taking a handful of Doritos out of my bag. That kid should have kept his
baggies in his lunch box if he knew what was good for him.
This has been a constant battle for as long
as I can remember. Ironically, I am trying to make a living from doing a job
that has me sitting on my derriere 24/7. I only get up from the keyboard so
that I can go into the kitchen and find a snack. Does that count as exercise
because I’m pretty sure I get up and down several times a day.
At this point, I’m not sure I’ll ever be
ready for the summer season when tan hipsters hit the beaches in my now cold,
quiet little community. Oh, I’m fine this time of year. I’ve got insulation in
places they didn’t even know existed. I would kick their toned butts in a
wintertime “who can keep warm” contest. Truthfully, I’ve always preferred enjoying
the outdoors in the winter when I can cover up with long, bulky sweaters and my
husband’s wool socks. Maybe I could find a turtleneck swimsuit.
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