Dirty Diets

Day one in my week long challenge to stick to dodgy diet. Ensuring bottom and thighs shrink in time for looming posh wedding reception at weekend. After taking nearly two months, ten shopping trips in six different locations to find the near perfect cheap dress, the stress/comfort/pie eating has got to stop before a shoehorn is required to get me into it! It is so unfair that rain or shine a man can wear a black suit, as if being a man wasn’t easy enough. My expanding waistline has not been helped by the fact that on every one of those disappointing shopping escapades (as compensation for my lack of outfit) I had been rewarding myself with bars of chocolate. Then on finding the dress I feel a cube of Galaxy as the perfect celebration!
Yes I have just been making it harder for myself I know. But now the chocolate addiction has taken hold.. I will have to be strong.
Off I go to local supermarket screaming child in tow… I think he is feeling my pain of missing out chocolate Isle. Vegetables, tea, lentils, grapefruit juice, celery, doing well.. Have managed to distract self with amazing new washing pegs on sale. Almost done, tills in sight when out of nowhere arrives a promotions lady offering me cake. WHAT IS THAT? I politely decline patting my stomach indicating that pounds are to be watched and not the money kind, to look up and see her nodding in agreement! Cheeky cow.
Almost running to the tills to prevent encountering other messengers of the devil I rapidly unload my healthy goods onto the belt, pay and leave.
Day one two and three go smoothly if not through gritted teeth. By day four I am feeling quietly confident at my new found air and dust eating habits. That is until I make the grand diet mistake of meeting up with some ex work peoples for coffee and cake. You see I am not a moderation person, give me a slice and I want the whole cake, appreciative I say - Greed I think most people would call it. So of course I am presented with all this amazing choice of fudge and iced cupcakes. Being the weak wreak that I am I break. Unable to resist almost believing that I can hear the sugar calling me. I have not one, two, but three different cupcakes to satisfy my sugar craving. So why is it that once you crumble that somehow it is soo much easier to convince yourself that the takeaway for dinner is cool idea too. Oh dear.
I end up at square one, as I am dressing for the reception I call The man over to do up my dress. Hesitant to take up this task The Man reluctantly moves towards me hoping that I will not kill him if the zipper relents. It’s a tight squeeze but I am there.
Sighs of relief all round. I realise how unfair I have been. Poor man loves me rolls and all.
I vow to make effort to healthy eat always from now on and no more crash dieting!
Walking up the steps of the reception on our second glass of champagne I chat to a good girlfriend of mine, both our men walking ahead. The Man turns to me and points out a women at the top wearing a familiar outfit. Supposedly the Very Posh cousin of the bride. Barely able to see straight I look down on myself and see a matching dress. Laughter erupts from me, can’t be that posh if she shops in Primarni too.
What a joke. For the rest of the evening I eat canapés and sip chilled wine. Only when I feel the tightness around my boobs do I remove myself from the food and go for a boogie.
Dieting. Rubbish. Dancing, now that’s something I can do..