in the pit of my stomach, you know, the kind you get when you’ve downed an entire one kg unopened box of kaju katli or Lindt chocolates or a rassogulla can (substitute with whatever is your current weakeness du jour) and then are called upon to serve it in a public situation. When you need to shamefacedly confess that it is you, you, and no one else, who has been sneaking a piece in everytime you meandered towards the kitchen for anything, with most of the meanderings happening for the sole purpose of stealthily opening said box of temptation and surreptiously gulping down contents. A stealth, which one never realised one possessed until called on in such dire emergencies, such as day long sugar cravings and acute pmsing and pastries lying unattended and ignored in the refrigerator since the buyer of said pastries had forgotten all about them and was busy ogling Udayan Mukherjee and strips of number heiroglyphs dancing all over a blue screen. Yup. Same queasiness, as occasioned when said buyer of pastries suddenly remembers the existence of an entire box of said stuff and requests you to kindly do him the honours of getting one from the lot, and you are compelled to explain to him kindly that a box of six pastries donot last untouched in this home for three days and therefore when he does bring them food of the devil into the house, would he do one the kindness of demolishing it all instantly rather than putting pure, innocent wife into the path of irresistable temptation that lands straight on the hips.
Anyway. You get my drift. Therefore, the sudden realisation that one has skipped a couple of days of a good walk thanks in part to the child wanting to hop and skip all over the compound rather than stick it out in the sandpit till his mother works up an hours worth of sweat, and the sheer disinclination to walk and the preference to sit and gossip with a couple of friends have made me rather antsy over the insinuation that one has, has one, put on just a smidgeon of good health over the past week?
Therefore one decided that one should cut down on one’s intake of nutrients comprising such elements of sin camouflaged in cocoa and sugar syrup, and instead thrust raw veggies down one’s throat much in the manner of the dungeon torture chamber as envisioned in the Amityville movie. Therefore the cook was instructed that I would not be having dinner, and to cut a bowl of veggies, salt and pepper and lime juice it up and serve it fresh to yours truly. I managed to down the entire bowl with a straight face, with the husband asking me quizzically if all was well, and did I need to be taken to the doctor and the mother checking my forehead for any signs of fever reaching the brain.
Exactly an hour later I was raiding the refrigerator. Under the pretence of cleaning it out of course, but a full fledged raid. Forgotten bits of carbohydrates and fats nestled in distant corners were taken out and devoured if found to be edible, by the sniff test.
I think I need to get me to a hypnotherapist. Any Shallow Hal kinds around who could hypnotise me into seeing a bowl of veggies as filling, comfort food and loaded with calories might kindly apply.
Any tips on sensible eating and building self restraint which does not involve a straitjacket and a lock and chain on the refrigerator are welcome.