I figure that every New Year’s Day, about 400 million people make a resolution to lose weight and become more physically fit…and that by the first day of February, all but 120 of those people will break that resolution.
Considering the fact I have vowed every New Year’s Day for the past 45 years to lose weight, I’ve come to the conclusion that I’ll probably never live long enough to be one of those 120 people.
But even though I’m pretty hopeless, my late husband was even worse.
Without exaggeration, if there were an Olympic medal for being the speediest at breaking a diet, my husband could have won enough gold to fill Fort Knox.
Barely 10 minutes into his diet, he’d become totally obsessed with food.
“Don’t they show anything on TV but food commercials?” he’d always complain, flipping through channel after channel of endless plugs for Wendy’s, McDonald’s, Pizza Hut and Dunkin’ Donuts. “Look at that! Another lousy food commercial!”
“But honey,” I’d say, “that’s a commercial for bunion pads.”
“Yeah, and bunions remind me of corns, and corns remind me of corn chips, corn muffins and caramel corn!” he’d snap.
For years, my husband and I lived under the misconception that because we were tempted by totally different foods, we were perfect candidates for the buddy-system method of dieting. I mean, my weakness always was sweets while his was fried, fatty foods, so we figured it would be easy to steer each other away from temptation.
How naïve we were.
The first time I broiled a burger for him and put a slice of low-fat cheese on it, he nearly needed CPR. “You call this a cheeseburger?” he asked, clearly aghast. “What happened to the grease, the juice dripping out of it when I bite into it? If I wanted to eat hockey pucks, I’d become a goalie!”
His idea of the perfect burger was one that if it were dropped into water, would create an oil slick to rival the one made by the Exxon Valdez.
He, however, was the only person I know who could open a bag of M&Ms and eat only two, then neatly fold the bag and set it aside for the next day.
Hand me a bag of M&Ms and I instantly transform into one of those car vacuums at the local carwash and suck down the entire contents in one shot. Still, I, unlike my husband, always have been able to eat only two or three potato chips and be completely satisfied.
So what usually ended up happening when we dieted was we would become so obsessed with each other’s stashes, we would cast aside our pride and stoop to bartering for food.
“I’ll do the dishes tonight if you give me five of your potato chips,” my husband would say.
“Dry the dishes and put them away and I’ll double it to 10 chips,” I’d answer.
“How about if I just swap you half of my Kit-Kat bar for 10 of your chips?”
“It’s a deal!”
Every January, gluttons for punishment that we were, my husband and I always discussed starting yet another buddy-type diet, even though we knew we were doomed to fail by nightfall of the first day.
With feigned enthusiasm, I’d say something like, “I’ll buy only the leanest cuts of meat and one of those George Foreman grills. And I’ll make salads and brown rice to replace the French fries and mashed potatoes.”
“And we can have fresh fruits and unsweetened juices instead of sodas and candy,” my husband would add.
Then we’d look at each other and start laughing.
“I’m starving!” he’d say, leaping to his feet and grabbing his coat. “I’m going to Wendy’s.”
“Drop me off at the nearest bakery on your way,” I’d add, running after him.
So this year, have I once again made a resolution to lose weight…for the 46th time?
Sorry, I can’t answer that right now. I’m baking cookies and I smell something burning.
# # #
Sally Breslin is an
award-winning syndicated humor columnist who has written regularly for
newspapers and magazines for over 45 years. She is the author of “There’s a
Tick in my Underwear!” “Heed the Predictor,” “The Common-Sense Approach to
Dream Interpretation" and “Christmas, a Cabin and a Stranger.” Contact her
at: sillysally@att.net.
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