So it’s Monday….again. “New Me” Monday to be precise. Groundhog day in Fatlandia. I woke as I usually do, barreling towards the scale for a self-worth check-in. And then thought better of it. Visions of my weekend flashed before my eyes….National Donut Day, wine, beer, pizza…all the regulars. In my sick, twisted mind I was looking for a lower number. Or was I? I often participate in a Monday morning ritual I call, “Bitch, please.” It involves me hopping on the scale to see the damage displayed as a number sure to get me back on the wagon. It rarely works. I’m usually dehydrated, causing the number to be better than expected but still headed the wrong way down a one way street. I vow to make changes. Thank God there’s no priest in site. I’d surely be in hell by now. Monday offers a unique opportunity to reset and recharge all the pieces parts that make me think I can actually wear my skinny jeans again. Fat off a weekend of binge eating, I’m not really hungry or craving anything so that helps. I convince myself it’s not as bad as it looks and shimmy over to the mirror hoping an alternate measurement of all that is me will yield better results. With a big enough mirror, I can usually manage an angle or 2 of hope. And then it dawns on me as it does every Monday…
Water weight. That’s what it is! Of course it is! Those 12lbs I’ve gained since Friday are nothing more than good ole’ H20 holed up on my ass, thighs and everywhere in between! Of course it makes no sense that I would be dehydrated AND watered down but making sense it not what we do here at SIF. That’s for hungry people. Every fat girl problem I have can be labeled under one heading “Water Weight.” It’s the greatest coup ever! If I actually held as much water weight as I claim to have, I’d be lying at the bottom of the ocean. That’s why you don’t share this information with anyone but your inner fatty. When speaking to “others” we call it “bloated.” No one wants to deep dive into your bloating issues…promise. They live in fear you’ll talk about your menses’ (Mother still calls it that…Jesus take wheel Laura Ingalls) or your backed up bowels. Aint goin’ there. They will nod in agreement that they too suffer from the “bloat.” There should be a secret wink that follows. Noted. So now that I’ve solved the mystery increase in real estate surrounding all that is me….what to do about it?
Water pill? Diet? Acceptance?….I jest. I usually come up with a new plan that’s actually an old plan that didn’t work on “old me” bcs “new me” wasn’t ready to come out. The bitch is hard core. It’s like she wants out but isn’t willing to do the work to get out. If I were a criminal I’d be doing life without parole. I’m clearly to fuckin lazy to fight for myself so I’d settle for shank makin’ and gang life. I could start a gang of fatties called the “Krispy Krips” and we could shank bitches for their fat stores. At least I have a viable prison life. Life on the outside…not so much. No one wants to join ”Krispy Krips” in my hood. They “do” book club and tennis. I’m too fat to read or serve. Reading makes me want to eat and serving is beneath me. I prefer to be served. Maybe I can start a new community of fatties where we have Fat Night! Instead of reading, you have to bring all your binge worthy sugar stores. We can sit around and judge each others secret pleasures. Who’s gettin it with Lil’ Debbie? You Ho-HO! Licorice whips….kinky…I love it! Ah to dream of such paradise makes one giddy…
So now it’s Monday night and Monday mornings problems still loom. Typical Monday around here. I decided at 4:30pm I would fast. Then at 5:30pm I decided I would drink wine. Clearly I have commitment issues. According to fasting rules, If I stop drinking wine by 8pm I can eat again 3 days from now on Thursday at 6pm…I think. Then there’s the issue of water. To withhold for the stronger Tuesday morning numbers or flush out the fat? I’m going with Jesus on this one…wine, no water and pray.