Say goodbye...

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Here's a question for you.  Why is it that when we are dieting, we say that we have 'lost weight'.  To me this implies that at some time in the not so distant future, we're going to find it again.  I like to imagine a 28lb blob of yellow fat in a three piece suit, winking lasciviously at me and saying, 'Oi skinny.  I've missed you.  Fancy letting me ride shotgun around those hips again?'

So instead of 'losing weight' I am getting rid of it.  Throwing it away.  Killing it.   Banishing it, never to be seen again.  Previous experience tells me that I will probably have old Blobby hanging back around my middle in a couple of years, once I've tired of leaves and crispbreads, but I am trying to do things slightly different this time.  Slowing down the stampeding rate I eat (I blame hurried school lunches for this), speeding up the walking, and being more aware of what I am doing and why I am doing it.

Someone once told me that if I ever felt like picking at food between meals, I should go and paint my nails to take my mind off it.  This is a great idea, but if I carry on adding the layers, I'll weigh 6lbs extra this week at Binland Diet Club and my knuckles will be dragging on the floor.  

Unfortunately, there's no prize for just saying 'no',  More has to be done, and I'm throwing everything I have at it this time.  Something is working though, because the husband has noticed that my jeans are baggy (no need to unzip them to get them off now).  'Are you wearing my jeans?' he asked me yesterday.  How I laughed.  His jeans are a 32" waist, and probably wouldn't even go over my knees, but the implied complement was lovely.

Speaking of food, much to the husband's dismay, I've given up eating meat for Lent.  He's unhappy about this because he knows that as I am the only one who cooks in the house, he will be eating cod and pollock for the next forty days.  He decided to give up bread, which is his main weakness.  His good intentions lasted all of an hour and a half when offered a bacon sandwich on Wednesday morning.  Mind you, even I would have trouble saying 'no' to that.

As the weight starts to go, I realise that I'm getting dangerously close to my TWD weight.  Your 'That Will Do' weight is the one which allows your clothes to start feeling comfortable again and all too often it's where I hit a roadblock.  Prancing around in my size 16 jeans satisfied that the double stitching is no longer straining against an ample stomach and the zip is lying flat, I forget that these are my fat jeans, bought in desperation one day in October, and in a suitcase under my bed can be found my real clothes, a size smaller and a little more interesting.

I keep reminding myself of that suitcase, every time I even have a sniff of a biscuit...


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