Guest post by Laverne H. Bardy whose humorous, often irreverent, slant on life in general, and aging in particular, draws a large readership. She has been syndicated with Senior Wire News Service since 2004 and you can find her columns on the Huffington Post. Her book, How The (Bleep) Did I Get This Old? was released in January, 2012, and is a compilation of the best of her columns.
My heart goes out to Oprah. She has gained weight again. This woman is structured, committed and disciplined in every aspect of her life and she can’t conquer her eating addiction, so how can I be expected to? Other than showing up for meals on time, I don’t know what structured, committed or disciplined means.
I’ve been on countless diets. I once spent a fortune on one that required me to eat their pre-packaged food. Only after they had all my money did I realize that what they were feeding me was dog food.
I tried to eat it. I really did. But I couldn’t swallow what they were passing off as tasty. After two weeks and forty-two repeated attempts at swallowing their nauseating meals, I put the food out for my neighborhood feral cats who sniffed it, and walked away. Mind you, it was the middle of winter, when mice, birds and gophers were scarce, but the cats opted to starve rather than eat what I’d left them. Come to think of it, that may have been how I was expected to lose weight.
FREE Newsletter, Subscribe here
Another popular diet I attempted came in book form and discouraged eating highly processed carbohydrates. Everyone but me was losing weight on this diet. Then I read the last page disclaimer that basically said hypoglycemic people will not be successful on this diet. I’m hypoglycemic. I had wasted a whole month on that damn diet so I rewarded myself with a hot fudge sundae, walnuts in syrup and sky-high whipped cream. No cherry. A cherry would have put me into the next month’s calories.
Remember the Drinking Man’s Diet? In 1964 it was the original no carb diet. You drank all the booze you wanted along with endless heaps of fatty meats, sauces and cheeses. I rather enjoyed that diet until I read reports of dieters dropping dead in front of deli counters.
Another diet I was on included support meetings, once-a-week. I attended every single meeting for two solid weeks in a row. Then I quit, convinced I could do it on my own. I made their meatless meatloaf, and flour free, sugar free, oil free, milk free, taste free cake. At one of the meetings I was told that mustard on a lettuce leaf tastes exactly like a bologna sandwich. Honest. The two weeks my head was into it, I was convinced I was eating a bologna sandwich. Only on the fifteenth day when my motivation waned, did I realize that mustard on a lettuce leaf tastes exactly like mustard on a lettuce leaf. And, that’s not bologna.
It’s evident that there continues to be more of me than necessary so I’m trying, for the trillionth time, to lose weight. I know I need to have crunchy foods to keep me happy. I’m hoping carrots and cabbage will satisfy that need, although it never has before. I found myself in front of my refrigerator, yesterday, desperately searching for something sweet. I ended up downing a swig of gherkin pickle juice and, yes, it actually satisfied my craving – for the moment. I’ve raised my water intake to several quarts a day, which fills my stomach, but sloshes when I walk, and keeps me housebound.
After a week on this no-nutrition diet I felt thinner, so I rummaged through my closet, where sizes range from Those Were The Days, to I Can’t Friggin’ Breathe, to You’re Kidding, Right? I tried on everything, toward a goal of keeping what fit, and giving the rest to Good Will. I was ruthless as I yanked each piece of apparel from its dusty, rusty hanger, some of which have hung there for decades, others with price tags still hanging, in hopes of one day coming out into the sunlight, wrapped around my body.
I had to face the sad reality that even if I fit into those clothes one day, they would no longer be in style; like the stunning navy blue sack dress, the black sheath, the June Cleaver shirtwaist, several pairs of culottes, bell bottom slacks, and a lovely beige suit with Mommy Dearest shoulder pads.
Maybe….just maybe….this will be the decade I lose the weight and treat myself to a new, updated wardrobe.
Maybe….just maybe….that last sentence is another example of bologna.
Other posts by this author