I’ve been contemplating letting myself go. Well, more than I have already. Eating without guilt. Skipping the gym. Giving up on pants with waistbands. I don’t think Husband would mind. His dating history is littered with voluptuous women.
The concept of consuming food indiscriminately and damning the consequences is very tempting. I took it for a test-run on Father’s Day when we had fish and chips for lunch then backed up for an Indian buffet at dinner. Total gorge-fest. I could only manage two glasses of wine that night, I was soooo stuffed.
I’ve been fantasising about KFC snack boxes (big, fatty thigh please). I haven’t had a piece of KFC since … forever. During my childhood, before junk food became a dirty word, my grandmother was far more interested in counting my bowel movements than my calories. Ten pieces of toast for breakfast, no problem! No pooping for three days and watch out. Nan had a special calendar on the fridge that I ticked – if I fell behind in my bodily functions, out came the laxatives. Ah, those were happy days.
Back then, my family ate KFC every Saturday night for dinner. Fried chicken, sweet buns, corn on the cob, coleslaw, fries, mash and gravy … the works. Highlight of my week.
No, no, sorry, that was Thursdays, when Mum and my sister worked late. Mum would leave a family meat pie from the Lovin’ Oven on the kitchen bench, then Dad and I would nip over to Adamstown for a large serve of chips and a carton of special fried rice. Yep, that was the BEST DINNER EVER. So good I can still taste it, 25 years later …
But I’m forgetting deep-fried potato scallops. How divine were they? Especially with lots of salt. And a hamburger with beetroot, cheese and bacon. Oh, and a serve of hand-cut chips, especially the little crunchy ones. All consumed from a newspaper package with a can of fizzy on the side. Ooooh, I can still taste them too …
Stop it Alana!
I have a niggling suspicion I’ve blogged about this before. Forgive me if I’ve gone all Groundhoggy on you. I’m a bit obsessed. Quite the gourmand, as Husband likes to call me.
Anyway, I’ve been tempted to let myself go and spend the rest of my days shovelling down KFC, special fried rice and potato scallops, not worrying about my spare tyre and just enjoying life until a heart attack or high cholesterol fells me.
But I don’t think I have it in me. I’m not a non-worrying-just-enjoying sort of person.
I’m an anxious sort of person.
Anxious sort of people can’t switch off and enjoy life. They’re too stressed about EVERYTHING.
So I’m going to put my anxiety to good use and have (yet) another stab at not letting myself go. Worry about eating healthy food and getting to the gym regularly. Get all uptight about not breaking the no-junk diet.
The past few weeks have been a shemozzle of back pain and skin cancer surgery. Exercise has slipped off the radar, other than popping to the newsagent for my quad-weekly $2 recipe book with the Daily Tele. Healthy eating has fallen by the wayside too.
I planned to turn over a new leaf yesterday, but there was no food in the house. Sprog 1 needed black leggings for a school assembly performance (she’s an Oompa Loompa), so I choofed to Kmart to get some and grabbed myself a curry for lunch. Patted myself on the back for hardly eating any of the rice …
I needed a Diet Coke as well (which is supposed to be a banned substance) because my nerves were so jangled from accidentally buying Sprog 1 a pair of $8 gym boots as well. They gave me these horrible visions of little Chinese children going blind in factories, sewing the tongues, but I just couldn’t help myself. They were such a bargain.
Last night I had to test a recipe for my food blog – gnocchi with pesto cream sauce. Not exactly diet food. I tried to stick to half a dozen, but they were so yummy … I must start writing food blogs entitled ’50 ways with cottage cheese’.
Which brings me to today. I’m hoping to be good today. The plan is to have an omelette for breakfast, no toast, with a little marinated goat’s cheese melted inside. Lunch will be barbecued chicken, no skin, with salad. Dinner will be … well, it’s supposed to be leftover gnocchi. But it might have to be grilled salmon and more bloody salad.
As for the banana choc-chip cookies I baked last night … no taste testing for me.
Bah! Letting myself go would be so much more fun.