I blame watermelon.
Watermelon is such a cheerful fruit. It’s big and round and heavy for its size and you sink a knife into it and it practically cuts itself open. Inside, it’s so improbably red. You grab a hunk and can’t even wait for it to be sliced and served. You are compelled to lean over the sink and bite into it, welcome the dribbling mess. You splash the kitchen counter, the floor, your chin, your hands, your chest (you are wearing an apron, right?)
Watermelon makes you feel full so you don’t eat very much of anything else and two hours later you’re starving and eat more than you should.
I blame the summer. The days are so hot and so long that you wake up early and go to bed late and, well, it makes sense to add a meal or two to your day. You even have time to walk on the beach after dinner so you can eat whatever you want. You’re going to walk it off anyway.
I blame anxiety. Your nerves are on edge and there really is no single specific reason and you have this compulsion to do more than one thing at a time. It’s a myth, this concept of multitasking, and it doesn’t work, and you know it. But you like, for example, to read the newspaper while you eat. You sit in the island in the kitchen with the paper open and a plate on top and read and chew and after a section or two you don’t even know where the food went.
You lie to yourself. I mean, come on! How can avocado be fattening if it’s so green, like a vegetable? It wouldn’t matter if you gain a pound or two if you are nourishing your body. What would you choose: health, or aesthetics? You have priorities, after all. You will never obsess over every ounce of food. At what price? Besides, it’s not like you’re eating fast food or junk. What is in your refrigerator? Oranges and broccoli and olives and yogurt, fresh basil, tomatoes, ricotta, parmesan cheese and pecorino. And drawers of different trail mixes and nuts and boxes of chocolate - but you’ve read recent findings. I mean, chocolate is practically on the five servings a day list.
This morning you drag out a pair of pants and slip them on and reach down to button them and (gulp) can’t.
There is something indisputable about tight clothes. It’s not a scale that is most likely faulty. It’s not that you didn’t drink enough water. Not that (and this is my husband’s brilliant theory) you’re gaining muscle and losing weight. So, just say it.
Enough. I’m embracing the concept and committing to two weeks of my very strict diet, the one I resort to when emergency strikes and I can’t even fit into my loose jeans.
Here it is:
No refined sugar. (Augh!)
No white flour. Meaning, no bread, no pasta.
No excess salt.
No dairy. (Don’t panic, people. It’s just for two weeks.)
No alcohol. (No sipping Luca’s beer.)
Green tea instead of coffee.
Wish me luck.
*Hint: the instantaneous answer should be “no”.