My mother is the world's best cook. Really. I know what you're thinking...everybody thinks their mamma is the best cook in the world. But seriously, mine is. And she will stuff you like a Thanksgiving turkey if you pass within a five mile radius of her house. It is one of her many talents.
Sunday, we celebrated my brother's birthday. She made fried chicken--Mamma's fried chicken is so good the chickens get on a waiting list for her cast iron pan--mashed potatoes and gravy, squash casserole, fresh green beans, tomato pie, corn on the cobb, deviled eggs, cantaloupe and my brother's favorite, German chocolate pie. And even though it was his birthday, she made my favorite, too. Blackberry pie. Oh...my...gosh. And instead of plates, we piled PLATTERS high with that feast. Is there any wonder I am VOLUPTUOUS? I grew up in that house, for the love of Pete. I never stood a chance. I lived with that during my formative years. I am food-challenged.
In my mother's house, if you don't eat enough, she thinks you don't like it, and she gets this hurt look on her face. Who can resist? I wouldn't know where to begin counting the calories in that meal. And that was just lunch.
It's a two-and-a-half hour drive to Mom and Dad's. On the way home, our neighbors called. We have really great neighbors. They were making dinner for us. Just something simple. Hamburgers (about a half a pound each), corn on the cobb, chips and cobbler with ice cream. And of course we had wine with dinner.
I figure if I fast for a week, I will have averaged out my calories to somewhere around five thousand per day. Don't you know Monday morning weigh in was a treat? But...I was very good in the dietary department yesterday and today. I didn't fast, but I am bringing my average for the week down some.
As I told Myra this morning, I need help. We are going on vacation in a few weeks, and I can't get into most of my summer clothes. The shorts and capris are the biggest issue. I can stuff myself in, and if I use a pair of pliers, I can get the zippers up (as long as I am lying flat). But when I stand up, if the zippers stay closed I can't walk or breathe. This is a problem. As a pre-published and as yet unpaid author, I cannot afford a whole new set of fat summer clothes. I know I whined about this back in May, but vacation is eminent. This is a state of emergency.
So for the next few weeks, I have to be tortured or sculpted and Jazzercise every day...well, Monday - Friday. And I can only have about 1200 calories a day. If I am vigilant, I can get back into my clothes. The sad part is that, after all that pain and deprivation, I will go on vacation for two weeks. Now, no one diets or exercises on vacation...at least no normal person...possibly the aliens do. Anyway, flying back on that plane from the Virgin Islands, you know that I will be once again busting out of my capris. I will come home and start all over again.
Sigh. I wonder if there is a name for this disorder?