For me, the decision came when I realized that buttoning the waistband of my pants had become a matter of timing: Breath out - stand on tiptoes - lean forward - kick left leg… button.
Sometimes it takes a couple tries.
I have a lot of experience in the weight-loss-resolution. A few years back, I instituted a regimen of one 800-calorie meal every 24 hours. I made it four days.
Apparently, I passed out when we were shopping at Sears. I dreamed I was eating bagels. When I came-to, I was gnawing on the wheel of our shopping cart. My wife tried to ease her embarrassment by telling everyone I was teething.
I bought a book on dieting once. Dieting for Tubbies… or something like that. I still have the book – it’s shimming up the short leg of the workbench in the barn.
More recently, I tried the fodder from a health-food store. I purchased several of their earth-friendly, reusable, cloth grocery sacks, to lug my treasure home. It was literally a treasure – I considered taking a second mortgage to afford this fiber-me-thin diet.
I had representatives of every color in the organic-produce palette. I bought farm-grown kelp and fifteen pounds of flax seed. Three bottles of cactus juice went in the refrigerator, right next to the string-tofu.
After several days, and in order to save myself from starving, I ate the cloth sacks. I made them into a stew. I was desperate for something filling - anything but health-food… I’ll take my chances.
Then there was the incident when my wife and I went on a strict diet together.
When we bought groceries, she picked up a box of Pop-Tarts. I thought, “This must be some sick way of testing my will power. I’ll show her! No Problem!”
That night, I didn’t even open my eyes when I got up and beat a direct path to that box of Pop-Tarts. She had hidden them, but it didn’t matter. The box was transmitting a homing signal and I locked on like a cruise missile.
I grabbed the box, and opened it by slipping a knife into the cardboard flap at the bottom. I snatched a packet of two tarts, ate them, resealed the box with a dab of real-fruit-filling, and placed it back in the vault.
The next morning, my wife opened the box-top to warm a breakfast treat for the boys, and was incensed to find that we had been shorted by the manufacturer. She charged back to the grocery store demanding a replacement box.
When I learned of this breakfast-time drama, I shamefully confessed my crime. She made me return to the store and apologize. The lady at the store understood - she gave me a box of Pop-Tarts for my honesty.
I didn’t tell my wife about my good fortune. Instead, I enjoyed a tart as I drove home, then stashed the box behind the seat of my pickup… just in case.
I’m going shopping later today – pants are on my list of things to buy. I’m thinking something with elastic in the waistband, probably.
I’ll likely have a couple Pop-Tarts on my drive to the store - only one on the trip home, though. After all... I'm on a diet.
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