Chocolate is Not a Food Group

Dear That’s Life,

It takes a true sadist, or nutcase, to diet during the holidays. As usual, I qualify for both categories. As I seem to be starring in a food version of “Temptation Island,” the promise to start my diet “tomorrow” has passed through my lips almost as often as the cookies I have eaten. How many slices of challah drizzled with honey is really too many? The jury is still out. Nevertheless, an intervention was necessary – especially since the source of my motivation to diet is hanging in my closet.

The dress is not even mine. That’s the irony. I am stressing about getting into someone else’s dress. It would be one thing if it was my money that had been spent on the garment or if it had fit before I had children. Neither of those are the case. “You’re depressed that you can’t fit into someone else’s dress?” asked my husband. “Yes!” I exclaimed. He shook his head in disbelief. “Even for you,” he said, “this is a good one.” While he asked me to confirm that I knew this was completely irrational, I did not care. Rosh Hashannah or not, if the goal is to get into this dress, there was no time to waste.

One of my closest friends is getting married and I decided to wear a dress of hers that I adore. Yes: I am planning to wear her dress to her wedding. While I appreciate that may not be the classiest move, I am over it. And referring to it as a dress does not do it justice. It is truly a gown, full skirt and all. I knew I would have to diet for it to fit, my friend being narrower that I am. I did not appreciate, however, that I was going to have to remove a couple of ribs as well.

There is a considerable gap between the two sides of the gown. I was sort of hoping it was missing a piece, but alas, it is not and the zipper works fine. The dress is complete the way it is, waiting patiently for me to slim down enough to make it fit. Finishing losing the weight from my last pregnancy has always been a goal, though each time I try, I lose interest. I make progress, until I remember I like cake. As a result, I am still ten to fifteen pounds away from my goal. Like many other Americans, I do not want to be on a diet my entire life. If I totaled the weight I put on with every pregnancy and how much I have lost after each one, it would comfortably exceed 250 lbs. Simply put: I was burnt out. I just did not want to do it anymore. Then I brought the dress home and everything changed.

Not that they get a vote, but my children have made it clear they do not think I can pull off the gown in the first place. It is pretty bold, the skirt filled with swags of ribbons, almost looking like feathers. Everyone has had a chance to take note of the gown, as it hangs so openly on my closet door, serving as a constant reminder. “You’re going to look like Big Bird,” said one of my daughters. “I love this dress,” I responded, reaffirming my commitment to wear it to the wedding. She looked at the dress, took note of my height and repeated herself. “Big Bird,” she said again. “The dress is black – not yellow,” I said, but she could not be convinced otherwise. So be it, I thought. Even if I someone calls me Big Bird, I have been called worse.

There are a number of dieting tag lines that I have been fed over the years. “Nothing tastes as good as being thin makes you feel,” is one I have seen a number of times. There may be some truth to that, but not if you like Haagen Dazs. That is good stuff. Then there’s, “It’s not a diet – it is a way of life.” That may be my favorite because my way of life is having a danish with my coffee. True to being my father’s daughter, chocolate and cake are necessities akin to air and water. Somehow, I am going to have to fit into this dress and eat a Hershey kiss, too.

While the weekly “weighing in” program works for most people, it does not help me as a long term plan. I need to check in more often, as I tend to treat myself right after I step off the scale. If I can be held accountable more than once a week, then I have a better chance of not handsomely rewarding myself. Losing a couple of pounds only to go out for dinner that night and finish a bowl of fettuccine alfredo is clearly counterproductive, but it was not stopping me either. The other problem is that I need someone to check on me and keep me in line. Almost like a weight loss sponsor, I must be able to turn to someone who will ask me how I am doing, what I’ve eaten, how much water I have had to drink and how many Hershey’s miniatures I’ve eaten before noon. Hopefully, the answer will be ‘zero.’

For anyone who has struggled with those last ten pounds or does not even know where to start, weight loss is a battle. Right now, it is not about the scale – it is about the dress. While I have no intention of going over board, I want to put the dress on and have it close. I may look like I belong on Sesame Street when this is all over, but in this case, that will be a good thing.
MLW
As Seen in the South Shore Standard Oct 2011