You turn on the local news just in time to catch the “Odd Person of the Week” feature. On your screen, larger than life and stranger than fiction is a middle aged woman/writer who is hurling tomatoes at passing teenagers and committing an act of felonious assault with two bunches of celery upon a nearby fire hydrant. The story closes with the news anchor commenting that this was funnier than last week’s story featuring Chuckles the Three-handed Ventriloquist and his tap-dancing cat, Ptolemy.
The woman in this feature is clearly:
A. On the express train to Insanity Street
B. On a diet
C. On the express train to Insanity Street and on a diet
D. Cleverly promoting her new book, “That Girl’s Not Right” by proving she’s “not right”
E. Not nearly as hilarious as Chuckles the Three Handed Ventriloquist and his tap-dancing cat, Ptolemy.
I have a low friend in a high place who gave me the skinny on this story. The woman on the news is a writer, who tried to combine a brand new diet with the upcoming release of her first book, “That Girl’s Not Right”. I (not me, SHE) left some notes that document my/her struggle to gain control in the midst of change. You decide what happened next. (The answer to the question is D, or at least I, no, SHE, prefers to think so!)
Day One :
Morning : Today is the first day of my new relationship with food. I will feed myself nourishing food. I will not overindulge. I will respect my body and my health.
Afternoon : Had veggie pizzas I made myself. They were nice. Wish I could have more cheese, but a new food relationship does call for sacrifice.
Evening : Made pizzas for entire family. I’m not really hungry. Tomatoes and celery are great for curbing a food craving. I can do this.
Day Two :
Morning : Hubby comes in bearing frosty cappucino for yours truly. Crap, 300 calories. Must make tomatoes, celery and small piece of low-fat cheese into satisfying breakfast.
Afternoon : Made veggie pizzas with same low-carb bread, low-fat cheese, and low-fat ham as yesterday. Am missing the fat in these foods, it seems to improve taste. Damn that frosty cappucino. Feeling some hunger pangs.
Late afternoon : Cripes, I’ve eaten enough tomatoes and celery to last a lifetime. Am considering food relationship infidelity at the nearest fast-food drive through.
Dinner : Tomatoes no longer my all-time favorite food, seem better suited as juicy projectiles. Wonder how son would handle an incoming beefsteak to the back. Tried to feed celery to dogs, they won’t eat it. Made ravioli for dinner, measured out my portion, still hungry. Pet parrots starting to transform into tasty, tasty poultry whenever I look at them. This is not good.
Day Three :
Breakfast : Had soup and sandwich for breakfast. They were low-fat. Someone shoot me. Wondering if I’ll gain weight if it’s my own arm I chew off. Gagging at the mere thought of tomatoes. Every time I close my eyes I see bacon. I want my Mom.
Afternoon. Wondering if vegetables feel pain. Really hoping they do, want them to experience excruciating agony with every crunch. Wish the USDA would reclassify cheese as a vegetable so I could eat more of it. Cheeseburgers oh cheeseburgers, why have thee forsaken me?
Evening : I miss fat. Miss carbs. Miss salt. Seeing dancing fast food whenever I close my eyes. Had vegetable cocktail drink – would have hated it, but it had salt. Lots of salt. I swear the celery and tomatoes are taunting me. Must sleep – only way to stop the dancing fries.
Day four :
Butt-crack of dawn : The veggies must die. They promise fullness but they don’t deliver. I will exact my revenge. Come with me, celery and tomatoes – sample the bitter flavor of my wrath…
You all know what happened next. I wonder how she’s going to get the smell of celery off her hands, the juice really permeates the skin. Or so I’ve been told. I’d never assault a fire hydrant with celery – twice.
Someone feed me. Or buy my book and I can feed myself.