There comes a moment in every woman’s life in which she will find herself standing in the kitchen late one night, staring down a bag of Doritos, screaming “you are not the boss of me.” Or it could just be me. Probably just me. But, still.
Like most Americans, I love good food, and as Mae West once said, “too much of a good thing can be wonderful.” That is all well and good until you can’t button your favorite jeans, and then step on the scale to discover the numbers are a different color when the needle ticks that far to the right.
Sadly, it may be time for yours truly to do something really terrifying. No, I’m not talking about scaling Mt. Everest, or visit Wal-Mart late at night. This is much scarier. Paige Turner is going on a diet (cue violin screeches from “Psycho”).
Now honey, I’ve been up and down the scale so many times I should have built an escalator by now. I have pants in my closet that I haven’t worn since the first Bush administration that I’m hanging onto with the vague by incessant hope that “someday” I’ll get back into them. I have dresses that have gone in and out of style three times. So, I’m no stranger to the dieting game. You name the plan and I’ve tried it. Weight Watchers, South Beach, Atkins. I’ve tried absolutely everything possible to lose weight, except of course diet and exercise.
What I know about myself is that since I like to eat, any kind of elimination diet won’t work for me. So I’ve decided to take the advice of all these healthy food bloggers and nutrition documentaries and to clean up my diet by eating only organic, fresh, farm-to-table food.
As it turns out, the farm ain’t cheap.
I began strolling the aisles at our local health food store, with great expectations. It smelled earthy and organic, there was French jazz music playing, and I could practically hear myself getting skinnier by the minute. I began, as most good things in life should, with butter. Now, there’s a whole bunch of new research that says butter isn’t inherently bad for you, so this is the research I’m sticking with. I found the most expensive butter available in the refrigerator case, with shiny, gold wrapping, and remembered how once in the mid-nineties I was able to buy a tank of gas for the same price. This butter is is golden yellow in color and comes from cows that apparently get daily Reiki massage and listen to Barbra Streisand while drinking Dom Perignon.
I buttered my toast with it and awaited the miraculous weight loss results.
Nothing.
Perhaps more butter would do the trick? Not to be deterred, I moved onto a glass of milk that comes from the same fancy cows, and it was so thick it was difficult to tell if was actual liquid or a pound cake. Still no weight loss. .
I would appear that more research is still needed before achieving my weight-loss goals. Stay tuned for when I try to melt the pounds away with chocolate fudge.
