I’ve come to the conclusion that I don’t know how to eat like a skinny person. Well, actually, let me clarify. I do know how to eat like one very specific skinny person…the skinny person that I used to be.

For over 35 years I ate what I wanted, when I wanted, in quantities I wanted…and never gained a pound. I was that skinny bitch you hated, the one that wore a size 2 and ate burritos the size of a small child…WITH all the extra cheese and gi-normous glops of sour cream. I ate cake and pie for breakfast, drank breves instead of lattes, ordered fries drowning in melted cheese and dunked them in brown gravy before I washed them down with a full-bodied micro-brew amber ale.

The carbs and fat grams were off the charts. The party on my taste-buds was that to rival an exclusive event on Ibiza…and I drank to match. Oh yes, I drank a lot….frothy girly drinks, heavy wheat beers, sweet liqueurs and of course vodka. Vodka with juices. Hel-LO…can you say calories?

Through all of that…all those years, well into my late 30s…I remained a lithe 5-foot-6-inch 115 pounds.

Oh,I didn’t work out…I didn’t need to. Yes, my feet were my main source of transportation…that and public transit…and I didn’t have a sit-down job, but neither did I have job that required a ton of energy either. I wasn’t running around all day and night, lifting and moving or breaking a sweat…almost never. I just was that lucky girl with the amazing metabolism.  Until…

I’m not sure what happened. Could it be that age really just kicks in one day? I mean, it was like…*snap!…all of a sudden I was growing in places I didn’t want to grow. Sure, I finally got the much coveted “Twins”, but the heck made the deal to let their “cousins” move into The Upper and Lower Asslands, and gave permission to all manner of their “extended family” to take over bodily neighborhoods I didn’t know I had!  My awesome expensive club clothes…Lip Service, Catherine Coatney, Betsy Johnson, all of them…no longer fit. My work clothes weren’t comfortable…and my ankles started bothering me if I wore heels for too long.

So, I did what everybody always says to do: I cut back on all the things you’re supposed to, and then even cut them out altogether. It didn’t seem to help, not one bit. I tried going to the gym…I really did…but I all that happened was my appetite went up and, even though I didn’t give in to it, the scales still stayed the same. I try to eat sensible: small portions, whole grains, naturally low fat…it’s not working. It’s gotten so that I’m afraid to eat anything at all…anything…AT ALL…and I get serious guilt if I eat, period.

Add to that that I live with two adults that can eat anything and do and seem to think I should eat what they’re eating, when they’re eating it. AND I have a mother-in-law that thinks the world revolves around pasta and processed/packaged foods, so she delivers such to my house every Saturday…from Costco…gratis. I’m at my wits end.

Don’t get me wrong…I’m not shopping for clothes in the plus-sizes…yet. Oh-gawd-shoot-me-please-before-that-happens. But I sure as hell don’t know who the frak that woman is in the reflection as I walk past the glass-fronted shops and cafes on my way to and from The Slave Box…but she isn’t me and I don’t like her.

No sirree. I don’t like her one bit.

© 2011 D. Kessler

Advertisements