Bring out the scale and hold the butter. Well, I did it to myself, and I must say I did quite a job. A few months back I had my physical. Let’s just say when the nurse mutters, “Uh-oh!” you know it’s not pretty. Cheddar burgers with slabs of mayo and soft shell […]
August 7, 2007
Bring out the scale and hold the butter.
Well, I did it to myself, and I must say I did quite a job. A few months back I had my physical. Let’s just say when the nurse mutters, “Uh-oh!” you know it’s not pretty. Cheddar burgers with slabs of mayo and soft shell crab po boys flash before your eyes as you try one last denial: “Oh, I must be retaining fluid.” Yeah, maybe Lake Michigan!
So I stand before you (well, sit typing while sipping a cup of coffee with light cream because I would rather not even ponder the thought of skim milk in my morning Joe) and ‘fess up: I joined Weight Watchers on Saturday. So far—not so good!
First off, don’t even think about joining online unless you have an hour each day to click and scroll, click and scroll. Honestly, I am not about to get myself weighed in front of others. As it is, I peek around the corner of my own bathroom before stepping on the ghastly contraption that I am sure is rigged to add another five pounds just to spite me. But what I really want is just the book of points. I did figure out online, after donating 60-some odd bucks to the cyber world of weight loss, that I am allotted 23 points a day and an extra 35 points per week. Great, if only I had an extra five hours in the day and a BlackBerry to look up every possible food item that I might consume, as well as its contents, for a review.
They say the scale never lies–this foodie is in BIG trouble.
So I have e-mailed the “Contact us” people at Weight Watchers, having maintained my “confirmation of payment” to beg for the precious book of points to carry in my pocket. I am not going to sell the point book to CNN nor post the reality check booklet on eBay. I just want to know how many points a garlic duck at Tropical Thai is and how many points I will be in arrears when I chomp down on a rack of ribs at Lee Roy Selmon’s tonight.
Honestly, you would think by now they would have a diet specifically for food writers—and forget the South Beach Diet. Been there: done that! Yes, with great success, but I have decided giving up pasta is like giving up one’s existence. I choose not to go there anymore. I will succumb to whole wheat pasta—potatoes and rice aren’t my thing, anyway. It’s the butter and cream thing that haunts me, though. You won’t be seeing any Benecol in my butter dish soon; some things are just non-negotiable on this foodie’s plate!