There’s no chance for any one of us to lose weight. The whole world is against us. This I believe. Until the day I die with fat clogged arteries, this I believe.
I was going to start my diet last Monday. It’s a day made for fresh resolve. But. at the school where I teach, somebody brought saltwater taffy to the faculty lounge. Somebody who purposely planned to sabotage my diet. I started out with two little pieces. By the end of the day, I’d had 8, 10, 32 – whatever. But how fattening could saltwater taffy be? I declared a fast for the rest of the day.
However, my husband John had a pork roast in the slow cooker when I got home. The aroma drew me in the door and wrapped itself around me. John makes me so mad. He knew I was on a diet. If the truth be told, I don’t think he wants me to be Thin and Lovely. And I could be Thin and Lovely. Nevertheless, it seemed reasonable to me I could start to be Thin and Lovely on Tuesday just as well as Monday. What’s a day? Besides, I would limit myself to a tiny portion of pork.
But there was mashed potatoes and stuffing, too. And that’s another thing about John. There was no reason in the world to make all that stuffing and potatoes. There it sat so warm and wasteful on the stove. I turned on him.
“Do you love me at all?” I hissed.
But Tuesday night he did it again. Beef tacos. I called the doctor’s office right in front of him and postponed my yearly physical for another month.
“Why’d you do that?” he asked.
“I can’t step on the doctor’s scale after I’ve had tacos,” I snapped.
“You haven’t had tacos.”
“But you know I will!” I said.
Wednesday was Birthday Treats at school, and the journalism teacher made cheesecake. That woman has always hated me.
But early Thursday morning, I climbed out of bed to walk on the treadmill. It felt good. It felt purposeful. I had turned a corner. But the guys changing the oil in my Chevy called at 11:15 to tell me there were big problems with the transmission. Big problems. I went straight to the teachers lounge and polished off the leftover cheesecake. In walked the journalism teacher. I hugged her and asked her to move in with our family.
And, of course, it’s impossible to start a diet on Friday night. I can be strong on Monday, I chant, as I watch the lasagna bubbling. But who am I kidding? Everybody I know is preparing to assault my senses on Monday. It’s not me. It’s them. This I believe.
Nevertheless, I’ll try again on Monday. But not today. Today, there’s a brownie mix in the cupboard. With walnuts. And there’s that box of Little Debbies under my bed. But I’ll be ready on Monday.
This I have to believe.
If you enjoyed this essay, please consider making a tax-deductible contribution to This I Believe, Inc.