|Old Food Habits Die Beneath the Belt!|
She is the daughter of a butcher--lots of meat at dinner (our biggest meal of the day) and melt in your mouth mashed potatos are still a sign a sign of love, acceptance between us. Sadly and proudly all at once: I am a poster child for my wife's great cooking--and yet, as a diabetic, my doctor sayes I MUST lose weight! Top all these mental and engrained conflicts I have ome to accept the fact that I'm addicted to food--it's color, it's texture, it's volume and it's taste. When I go to a chinese restaurant I suffer from a syndrome with no name: My stomach is full to bursting and my brain tells me I can still eat more! What am I to do!
Exercise and eat everything I want? Nope--never happen! I'm at that age where bad knees keep me from walking. Weak ankles, low center of gravity--and a similar addiction to sitting for hours in front of the computer to write, design, do fun earn at home activities and hours and hours of church work---I'd be a basket case, but I'm just too big for the basket!
My old explanation told with a chuckle that I've always told folks about my size is getting old. "It's easier to play Santa than to lose weight!" I really want to never have to tell that joke again--but I'm in a no win situation. I love to eat--and I can't waddle away from aromatic, tasty temptation for the sake of slim!
My slat thin 35 year old son came up for a snack overheard me reading this to his mother and cut to my quick, "It's called SELF CONTROL, Dad!" he shouted. "Shut up! I said sweetly, "Shut the full plate of Thanksgiving Turkey UP!"
Modern intake philosophy have taught me to eat sparingly--cut the plate in half. I don't want to cuz I love food--especially as my wife fixes it so well and especially for me. Her self image is riding on my burping gratitude for her nightly offering of the glut of calories, fat, starch and a little sugar--with a little treat--or two or three just before bed. How can I refuse such a delicious temptress who loves me so well in so many other ways? I can't offend her with any diet plans---and to show me she REALLY loves me--She keeps it coming.
As Santa I've been trained to give out stickers and not treats because psychologists say that kids who get tasty treats from Santa to make them happy--turn to food when they're lonely and sad--and they get fat!
In her head she knows she shouldn't--but she can't help herself and as a result neither can I.
We've purified our water to keep the toxins out of my belly fat.
Breakfast is an apple--may be with a little low fat greek yogurt. I dry fry my own single egg smattering of protien wrapped in a gluten free tortilla every day at 1. I make two with the frustrated desire to eat the second one for dinner at 4--and then my sweet kitchen general wheels out the nightly feast and I crumble.
I set a goal to lose 25 pounds before my next doctor's visit--and I was well on my way until we postponed the visit for two months and I fell victim to more and more dark chocolate-- the extra piece or two of her fudgy applesauce cake--I gained back five pounds and I gave up!
The thought just came to me to buy five or six tupperware square boxes and put into each box ONLY what I could have--Each box would have a time limit--and I would eat NOTHING, I repeat N O T H I N G but what was in the boxes. Good Luck--if rules were made to be broken--these boxes would last for three days tops!
I heard about all kinds of unique diets: The Dolly Parton diet--two ice cream scoops brimming with what every you REALLY wanted to eat--and the rest of the meal: Cabbage Soup! Yummy!@#$%^&*%$#
Theres the cut the plate in half diet--but unless you put the other half of the delicious meal in a bowl, seal it and force yourself to eat it tomorrow for lunch--it just lies there calling your name.
A radio play from the old days spun the apocryphal story of a little Cuban lady who lost her son in the Communist rise to power and she signs on to kill Fidel Castro by "poisoning" him with her mouth watering highly caloric/cholesterolic cooking. I've kidded my wife that the habits of her 50s up bringing is slowly expanding my waist line to it's heart attack limit, but how can you berate a woman who slaves all day in the kitchen to please your palate and harden your arteries?
( My great cook applied to work at a cooking implement store nearby and a snooty HR type asked her to fill out an application that included the question, "Give some evidence that you know your way around the kitchen." My wife jokingly wrote, "When we were first married 30 years ago my husband had a 36 inch waist--it's balooned up to 52 inches and growing." The snooty applications clerk found nothing funny in that but the rest of the store heard about and laughed and laughed.
"So tell me Doctor," how do I get my wife to change habits of a life time and feed me salads for dinner and tiny meals mascarading as samples and tastes?" Old habits die hard and part of me, the part that flops over my belt never wants her to stop! Help! I'm drowning in a sea of tasty gravey, stuffing and all the turkey I can eat!
(I read this post to my wife who nodded knowingly--and with an unbending resolve to keep loading me up. With a keen sense of skewer she reminded that tonight especially --with Turkey and all the trimming--I was haunting the kitchen, snitching out of the mashed potato bowl and getting finger fulls of the mouthwateringly delicious stuffing---and stuffed myself BEFORE my plate was served!)
Wavering character in the face of delicious temptation! (That may be inscribed on my tombstone as they lower my vastly overweight body into the ground in a coverted piano crate--because I wouldn't fit in a standard size even extra wide coffin! Pallbearers--hope---six fork lifts! Never mind my ample demise! When it smells good and looks great--I'm tuckin' in-- Stay tuned. There are no easy fixes.