Fat Girl Friday

It is official. I am now 52. I am two years into my fifties. My inner self still feels like

a teenager. My outer self feels like I am 52. I can no longer do some of the things

I easily did when I was younger.

I cannot hop up onto the kitchen counters to reach the high shelves. My husband 

purchased me a kitchen step stool. Partly because he was afraid I would break my

neck climbing onto objects that were not meant for climbing,  and partly because he 

was tired of stopping what he was doing to help me. 

I can no longer see small writing. I have cheater glasses all over the house and 

when I need them, I seem to never be able to find them. I don’t make plans after

5pm. I’m too tired. I keep a few boxes of hair dye in my bathroom because every

four weeks, there is a white line outlining my entire face.

But, in all, the worst is this extra bulge I cannot get rid of. I have always, my whole 

life, teetered on the edge of chunky. In my twenties and thirties, I exercised. I

would jog a few times a week and was always in the gym. I was not thin. My body 

was not made to be thin. But I was in good shape. I had muscle tone and firm skin.

However, after the birth of my last child when I turned 40, that all changed.

Throughout my forties, I have tried every diet known to man. The cabbage diet, 

the low carb diet, the fasting diet, the no eating after 6pm diet. The liquid diet. My

husband was a good sport with all my nonsense with the latest fad diets. 

I would tell him Honey. This is what we are doing...and he would do it. He was very

encouraging with every new weight loss plan I told him we were on. They would last

for a few weeks, and then we would be back to normal.

We tried the Keto diet. We both downloaded apps on our phones that would help

us calculate the amount of fats, and carbs, to keep us on track. We would sit on

our phones  at night, during our T.V. time, and enter in all the food we had that day. 

His numbers were always better than mine. But I would usually have enough points

left to have a little snack. A cheese stick, which I would eat very slowly, peeling one 

strand after another, to make it last longer. 

One night, I gave up. I ran to the pantry and pulled out a bag of potato chips and 

shoved them into my mouth like I hadn’t eaten in days. My husband shook his head, 

dug his hand into the bag, and shoved a fist full in his mouth too.

We tried V Shred together, but that was too much exercise, and we were not about 

that kind of lifestyle. I tried going back to the gym, but after one week, I came up with 

a million excuses why I couldn’t fit that into my schedule. 

Then we tried the 20/20 diet. That diet lasted for the longest. It consisted of only 

eating  20 super foods. We would spend all night in the kitchen together preparing 

meals for the work week. After eating mashed cod mixed with lentils, baked into a patty

and dredged in mustard, for four weeks, we were both seeing results. I thought, wow. 

This was really working. Finally, a diet with results. 

But, one Friday night, while clearing the dinner table, putting some things into the 

refrigerator, I saw it!

A left-over canister of fudge frosting from a cake I had baked a friend for her birthday.

I was having a conversation with my husband when I saw it. I couldn’t really hear what 

he was saying anymore, but I said Yes.. and .. Oh really.. At appropriate times to help 

conceal what I had just discovered. I hid the canister in the back of the refrigerator behind the milk. I couldn’t bring myself to throw it in the trash.

Later that night, my husband and I were in our bed watching a program on the television. 

We were eating dry, unflavored popcorn, when an idea popped into my head. What if I 

mixed that fudge icing with a little peanut butter? No..no…no!!!! I cannot do that. We were so good. It’s been four weeks and I’m down 7 lbs. My husband was down even more. And I tortured us with mashed cod and lentils for a month. The skinny girl in me said… Stay put lady. This urge will go away. Drink some water. The fat girl in me said… DO IT!!!! You are a grandma. There is no such thing as a skinny grandma. Grandmas are round and fluffy.

And with that, I hopped out of bed.

I hurried down the hallway as I told my husband I needed a glass of water, which was a 

horrible lie since I had a glass of ice water right on my nightstand. I ran to the kitchen, 

grabbed two spoons, peanut butter, and that canister of fudge. There I was, facing the refrigerator, both doors open, with a scoop of fudge on one spoon and a scoop of peanut

butter on the other. I was alternating spoons. First tasting the fudge, then the peanut

butter, then the fudge, then the….. That’s when I heard a noise. 

I turned around. I had a spoon in each hand and fudge and peanut butter filling my mouth. Standing with his arms crossed, my husband is shaking his head. I was busted and there was no way to explain what I was doing. 

“I’m starving!!”  I yell at him. “I don’t want to be skinny anymore. I want food!!”

My husband just laughs at me and asks if we can have real food again. I nodded my head, still enjoying the remains of peanut butter mixed with fudge in my mouth. He moves me out of the way and grabs a fudge bar from the freezer. And, just like nothing had ever happened, he heads back to the bedroom.

Currently, we are sticking to just eating healthily. Lean meat, vegetables, lots of salad. We stay active. We cut down on our snacking and still have our popcorn at night, but with a touch of salt and butter. And when I am done baking a cake, I toss out the extra frosting. 

Being healthy and happy is most important. I have accepted that I will never look like I did when I was in my thirties. However, I think to myself- When I am in my 70’s, will I wish I looked like I did when I was in my fifties?

-Desiree