Burn 800 calories in just 30 minutes

Burn 800 calories in just 30 minutes
8 May 2014

Bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha!!!  This is very, very funny.  And it gave me a really good laugh.

I reckon, the pic above is an accurate depiction of the most effective and realistic way of burning 800 calories in just 30 minutes.  In fact, I bet it’s pretty darn fool proof.

Though I do think that there are certainly variations on the topic.  For instance take a good sized rump steak, creamy potatoes topped with cheese, mushroom cheese sauce on the side, and a wee little side plate of fried bacon, one would surely top the calorie scale at a conservative 950.  Maybe even a thousand.  Actually, I wouldn’t mind trying it!

And most likely one could even improve on this plan.  With the simple addition of a higher temperature and the grill selection on the oven, one would most likely be able to do some really good damage in terms of calorie burning, within an even shorter space of time.  Record breaking stuff for sure.

I go walking a few times a week, and I use the handy little app on my phone to track my progress.  And I’m the first to admit that it is most likely not accurate.  At all.  Which though a bit annoying is not the end of the world.  Especially seeing as it probably measures my progress consistently inaccurate.  Which means there is a kind of logic to that.  A pattern of sorts. 

The main bit of info I’m interested in, is the distance.  It’s all about the kilometres.  Couldn’t be bothered about the time (I happen to have one of those nifty little things called a wristwatch, so that takes care of that).  Nor could I care about the incline, even though I kind of have a thing for hills – bizarre though that seems.  However, the one thing that really puzzles me is the calorie and kilojoule count.  Don’t have the foggiest idea what it actually translates to in terms of food, and how much I can eat.  What does it all mean? 

I’m all for having a little bit of balance.  Do a bit of exercise, and try and eat when your body needs it.  Not just when you want to.  Oh, there are certain guidelines of course.  I think it’s good to stick to meal times and not snack too much in between.  Though healthy snacking, like fruit, is probably pretty fair. 

It’s been a huge eye opener to me, that I would enjoy mild exercise like walking.  Me, of the lethargic approach to exercise, who prefers sitting on the couch.  Even just watching people exercise on TV, doing things like the Comrades marathon, had the ability to tire me out.  Possibly even demanding a nap to recuperate.  In the past the thought of intentional and willing exertion left me baffled.  Why would I want to?  Choose to get exhausted and tired?  No thank you!

And now I fear that I’ve become a bit addicted.  There is a very simple and honest joy in walking.  In drinking in the bounty of beauty all around me on my walks.  Of breathing in clean fresh air.  Of feeling the biting nip of cold first thing in the morning.  It is so invigorating and life giving.  Of seeing my stamina increase daily and my body changing shape. 

Added to all of that – it’s free.  It’s there for the taking.  And we are surrounded by so much magnificence.

Horrified at the thought of what I’m going to do when the winter rains start and my walking plans get thwarted.  A raincoat me-thinks. 

And when the weather gods are against me and all else fails, I’ll simply have to resort to considering similar measures to the photo above, in order to accumulate and earn my regular calorie burn.  Just think of the damage I could do to a roast leg of lamb in record breaking time!

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Good things come to those who weight...

 

 Good things come to those who weight...
3 February 2014

And over Christmas time, this is rather easy.  There’s gammon and nuts.  Puddings galore.  Roast leg of lamb and roast chickens too.  There’s braai vleis meat and possibly more take-aways than normal.  Breakfasts in holidays not just bland and boring cereal.  Instead there’s waffles, pancakes, flap jacks, bacon and eggs plus toast.  There’s snacking and nibbling and noshing of food.  Permanently grazing it seems.

Yes, temptation is indeed difficult to resist during the festive season.  Especially if away.  Or even just at home, and everyone is on leave and in the holiday eating zone. 

Meal times are usually not all that strict.  Suppers tend to run rather late.  Exercise not very high on the agenda either.  And there’s a fair bit of lounging about that is done.  Grand scale vegging sessions completely the norm.

But here’s the thing – being overweight and feeling fat and flabby is not all that great. 

Personally, my head gets dark when my body gets big.  My self-esteem suffers and I just plain feel eeeuuuwww!  Generally not in a good space.

And so, a few months ago, I got back on the Weigh-Less wagon once more.  It was made easier by the fact that a whole bunch of friends were also doing Weigh-Less at the same time, and thus we helped to inspire one another and motive each other to stay on track.

I had been slipping, and my fat alter-ego, Mildred, had been creeping up on me. 

I enjoy Weigh-Less.  It’s a really sustainable diet.  Simply because it’s not a diet.  It’s just a logical and correct way to approach food.  And I see it as the fuel needed for my body to function properly.

Also, I’ve done the Weigh-Less thing before.  And it works like anything.  You lose the weight and it tends to stay off.  The major bonus to Weigh-Less, is that it is quite frankly impossible to go hungry on it.  If anything, I battle to eat all of the allotted food in one day.  But you have to.  It’s about the balance of foods in certain categories, and so deciding to skip carbs or bulk up on protein at the cost of your veg, is not right.

I don’t eat a lot.  Food is not a huge focus in my life.  I tend to forget to eat sometimes – I know – it’s a special kind of stupid.  I get busy and distracted.  Left to my own devices, I’d spend my days nibbling on fruit – right through the morning and into the afternoon.  Avoiding carbs and proteins.  But, it’s just that – stupid.

I’m not doing my body any favours, by doing this.  I’m confusing it.  Making it store reserves.

So when on Weigh-Less, I make a deal with myself.  I will only put into my mouth, that which I am supposed to.  I will not snack in between.  I will not finish those last biscuits or nuts left over from the kids lunch boxes.  I will not nibble a few slices of cheese, whilst cutting some for the kids school sarmies.  Cause that’s the real danger.  I don’t ever sneak a chocolate into the trolley in the middle of the day, and quickly eat it.  I don’t do that at all.  That’s not my danger.  But I do eat too much fruit.  Fooling myself that it’s natural, healthy, etc.  But sadly, it’s filled with sugars too.  And so for now, moderation is the key.

I have not joined classes.  I’m not doing a weekly weigh-in.  Rather I’m following the menu plan I already have.  Weighing myself.  And taking absolute joy and delight in the daily diminish in my scale.

But I’ve also had another deal with myself for many years already – even when doing hectic Weigh-Less.  I will stick to the plan Monday to Friday, with no exception.  But from Friday evening until Sunday evening, I’m off the hook.  I still try and make healthy food choices, but I basically eat what I want.  And this system has worked for years and years.

Every so often I go off the rails, and I simply make a decision and get back on the dieting horse again.  Making the decision is harder than putting in the dieting effort.  It really is. 

It is not more expensive to eat healthy.  It is not more time consuming.  I don’t cook two meals – one for me and one for my family.  I make small adjustments along the way, that make a big difference.

In addition, I started walking – about four times a week.  Up the beautiful, yet evil hill, just up the road from the Primary school, where I drop my youngest kids.  Sometimes friends join me.  And having company on a walk is just so fabulous!  Particularly as I don’t notice how far I’m walking or how steep that hill is.  My jaw gets lots of exercise, as we tend to talk a mile a minute, and my soul is fed by my interaction with friends.  But mostly I’m on my own.  It gives me the opportunity to get a bit of exercise.  To clear my head.  To drink in the beautiful, magnificent, mountainous surroundings around me (they’re ridiculously gorgeous), to glory in the sunlight, to breathe fresh air and to do so deeply.  To spend some time with me.  To think about stuff.  To just enjoy the simple, yet wonderful pleasure of being outside.  Especially in the early mornings.  When the air is still fairly crisp.

This in itself is a strange concept for me.  And one I’m not entirely familiar with.  I.  DON’T.  EXERCISE.  And though walking is admittedly not all that strenuous, it is exercise none the less.  I walk fast-ish.  For me.  I’ve put some awesome music on my cell phone and I listen while I walk.  Singing along sometimes.  Enjoying rediscovering certain music, and discovering a love for others.  And though I do occasionally veer off my hill every so often and take a different route, the hill, though absolutely murderous, is still my best.  Mainly because the view from the top is so breath taking.  And whilst walking, I pick fast paced, bouncy songs.  Mostly trashy pop tunes.  The fad of the moment songs.  Though I have some stellar awesome good music as well.  Downhill is the best, as I’m normally not so out of breath.  I tend to sing along.  Occasionally glancing behind myself to make sure that my lack of vocal skill is not exposed to fellow walkers and cyclists out there.  And another firm favourite of my downhill walk is ….. skipping.  I know, skipping.  But hey, don’t knock it.  Skipping is fun.  It makes me feel about five and extremely happy.  It’s such a frivolous fun thing to do, especially when you’re listening to a really cool song, and you’re singing along at the same time.  I don’t do it all of the time, but I have spurts of skipping.  And my heart just bursts with joy when I do it.  I really hope I never grow old and stop doing fun stuff like skipping.

Anyway, so despite slacking off over Xmas and picking up a bit again, I picked up the Weigh-Less mantle once more, just two weeks ago.  Doing my walks up my hill.  Delighted with the results already.  I didn’t need to lose much.  But that little bit of weight loss, made a big difference.  Not only to my body.  But to my head too.

I will never be skinny.  Or thin.  It’s okay.  I just don’t want to be fat and overweight.  I’m quite happy with normal and medium.

Yay less bulky me!  Yay!

And to prove it, this past weekend saw me in a fairly skimpy dress for a cocktail dress code wedding on Friday.  Something which would have put me into a right spin ordinarily, leave me feeling depressed about my figure.  And then in a cat suit no less for an ABBA themed 50^th birthday party on Saturday.  Loved the cat suit so much, that I even wore it a bit yesterday, when I was flopping on the couch relaxing after having spent two nights dancing like anything and partying until the wee hours.  Actually, come to think of it, I only have to drop the cat suit off at the costume rental shop at 5pm.  Perhaps I should squeeze in another little walk up my hill, wearing the cat suit.  It will be such fun skipping down the hill, with the bell bottoms, flapping at my ankles.

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Way skinnier me, feeling fabulous in a skimpy (for me) dress

 

Never thought I'd be able to pull of a cat suit

 

Simply loving it!

 

 

I'm in the Fitness Protection Programme

I'm in the Fitness Protection Programme
24 October 2013

I’m currently hiding out.  Trying to protect my anonymity.  Hiding in plain sight.  Hoping to blend in.  To draw no unnecessary attention to myself.

First rule – make no eye contact.  I’m in the Fitness Protection Programme.

I absolutely abhor exercise.  In any shape, form or manner.  And it’s not really difficult to deduce why – I’m lazy.  There!  I’ve said it.  Now shoot me.  Go ahead!   I don’t make a difficult target – it’s not as if I’m fit enough to run.

I don’t like to exert myself physically.  I don’t understand the exercise euphoria I’ve heard people talking about.  How addictive it can become.  How you simply need your daily fix.  It simply makes no logical sense.  But then again, I’m inherently lazy.  I really, really am.  I’d far rather read a book, or watch a movie.  Alternatively, watching paint dry is more exhilarating and even a root canal holds more appeal.

If I run, it can only mean that someone is chasing me.  In fact, I am so bad at running, as to appear comical.  Apparently.  How rude!  When my kids are feeling bored and need a good laugh, they ask me to run in the front garden.  And I’m nothing, if not a sport.  And so, every so often, if I’m feeling indulgent, I’ll do just that – indulge them.  And boy do they love it.  They make themselves comfortable on the stoep.  Sitting is advised, as they may fall over in laughter if standing up.  They actually stop just short of getting snacks.  But perhaps that is more due to the fact that “the show” I give them is so exceptionally short.  I wish I could say that I streak past them with long legged grace.  But, I really, really, really don’t.  Apparently it’s part gallop, part who knows what.  My arms flail.  My legs appear not operational.  And in addition to that I think the wheezing is pretty amusing too.  What can I say?  I’ve raised truly awful kids, who enjoy laughing at their mother.  Worst of all, I’ve probably actively indulged them in this hobby of theirs.

Getting out of breath because you’re exercising, leaves me emotionally cold, even though I’d feel physically hot.  Why do it?

The gym holds no appeal whatsoever.  As in nada.  Zip.  Zilch.  Zero.  And any other word that means nothing, starting with a “z”.  And more than likely this is due to the fact that in order to gym, you have to appear in skin tight, figure hugging clothes.  I’d feel self-conscious, and I’m pretty sure I’d suck at whatever the gym threw at me.  Exercising with groups of people in a class, like Zumba, or something, would not help either.  I’d appear uncoordinated and would have to slunk and hide in the back of the class.  A pretty difficult thing to accomplish, given the propensity of gyms to have mirrors all around.  I’d be that one person in the back that steps left, when everyone else is stepping right.  Yip, that would be me.

What makes this all particularly funny, is the fact that my kids seem to like exercise, sport, dancing, etc.  Of their own accord?  There is my eldest son, the hockey-mad-A-team-playing whiz, who has a passion for soccer and enjoys running around outside playing either soccer, hockey or cricket.  Unprovoked!  There is my very coordinated daughter, who thrives whilst doing dancing.  And my youngest kid is just sports mad.  I can’t actually think that I’ve ever seen him just walking.  The pace is way too slow for him.  He tends to run, gallop, skip, sprint, etc.  Most often, whilst making bowling movements with at least one arm.  Truly odd!  And if it wasn’t for the fact that I was physically there, conscious when each one of them was born, I would doubt the fact that they were even mine.

Every so often, I dabble with the idea of exercising.  And of getting fit.  I have visions of slimness.  Lean, supple muscles.  Experiencing the exercise adrenaline high for myself. 

And then I just sit down, until the feeling passes again.

 

And to be honest, I've given the exercise thing the odd bash over the years.  Though to be fair, I've never really truly committed.  I've done lengthy walks with friends - but the main exercise is actually given to my jaw, as we jabber the whole way long.  I've done power plate, where I jiggled my bits.  And many, many, many moons ago, in my late teens and early twenties, I actually gave a small gym a try.  It was NOT true love.  I still can't quite visualise the bit where I go from burning chest, aching muscles, wheezing lungs, lame feeling in legs, floaty pass-out sensation and spots in front of my eyes, to a place of pleasure.  And so perhaps I've always given up too easily.

Still, in lieu of traditional exercise, I lift Jumping Castles for a living.  And hence I’m actually ridiculously strong.  Humongous muscle power in my arms and maybe by coincidence in my legs too.

The marvellous by-product of which, is that my physical prowess, helps to keep my husband in line…..  I’d take that skinny boy down!

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It's not that I'm fat. I'm just short for my weight.

 

It's not that I'm fat. I'm just short for my weight.
23 October 2013

It’s not so much a case of me being really fat.  I’m just exceptionally short for my weight.

And to be honest, it’s actually taken me a rather long while to finally figure this out.  But now that I have, it naturally makes perfect, logical, if slightly warped, sense of course.  And I can’t believe it didn’t join the dots earlier.  I’m normally not that slow off the mark.  But perhaps, my diminutive height, is to blame for me taking so long for the penny to drop.  Maybe the combo of my shortness, lack of vertical scope, and my expanding need to shoot up, has caused a brain malfunction of sorts.  Pressure on plates, medulla oblongata, spleen(???), blah, blah, blah.

Currently, by obese standards, I’m not that.  Luckily.  Still for me and for what I’m comfortable with, I’m leaning towards the podgy side.  It’s that bloody fat alter-ego of mine, Mildred.  She’s a truly nasty piece of work.  I can’t stand the evil cow!

And with summer around the corner, I am ever aware that it is time for Mildred to shove off.  She is no longer welcome at all.

And as such, I have given a thought as to how to boot her.  Dieting is so hunger inducing.  Exercising is so tiring. 

Instead, I’ve come up with a master plan of sorts.

I am expending all of my energies on thinking lengthy, elongated thoughts.  If I just stretched a wee little bit, it would sort out a whole bunch of troubles for me.  Just think of it.  My weight would not have to drop.  There would be nothing for me to lose.  None of that nasty dieting and exercising required at all.  Instead, the existing weight I’ve got, would just settle into a bigger allocated space.  Personally I’m visualising it in the longer leg area.  Potentially plumping up my calves nicely.  However, I’m quite willing to adapt.  It stands to reason, that my arms would stretch too.  And fuller lower arms, even muscles, would be perfectly all right by me.  In addition, I would not moan at all, if the breast area filled out a bit more.  In fact, I think I’d like it a lot!

One friend of mine, is super anxious to lose weight.  She’s going on an exotic beach holiday next year.  A holiday that would involve lounging around on the beach in a cozzie.  Covering up with a scarf, beanie, jeans and sweater simply won’t do.  And she says, that despite her on-again-off-again yo-yo dieting over the years, this time she is determined.  She will succeed.  Why this week alone she has lost 3kg, all thanks to putting her scale on a different tile on the bathroom floor…

But perhaps, I should take the advice of another friend.  On a recent shopping excursion, she went to a (let’s call it) “larger-lady-shop”.  This title given by her own admission.  And upon emerging a while later and having the size 16 jeans not fit her either, she hoofed it off to the food court, where she promptly ate four samosas in a row.  Knowing her, it didn’t stop there either.  She has a weakness for Nik Naks chips and chocolate Chuckles too, and I’m surmising that she would’ve worked her way through a bag of both of them.  All whilst doing the school run with her kids and being out and about doing her errands.

She reckons that her goal of many years, to be thin, has been flawed.  In fact, it’s ridiculous, she says!  Instead she has lowered the bar a bit.  Decided to be more realistic in setting her targets.  And so now, her newly revised weight goal is to just not be obese.

And big up to her.  So far so good.

She’s doing just swell.

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Mildred - time to boot her out - AGAIN!

Mildred - time to boot her out - AGAIN!
22 August 2013

My nasty fat alter-ego, Mildred, has raised her evil head again.  All fat jowls and flabby arms.  Not to mentioned the thunder thighs! 

She creeps up on my every so often.  And I must admit that I absolutely abhor her.  She makes me feel ugly and eeuwww!

It’s funny how I sort of know that she’s raising her bulbous head, but I am able to pretend that it still is not so.  For weeks I live in denial.  And though I seem to feel constantly ever so slightly ill at ease, I still soldier on.  Semi-blissfully unaware.

And then it usually comes crashing down all at once. 

But how is this all brought about?  Not in the conventional fashion.  I don’t start an anti-fat revolt because my clothes are feeling tighter.  Or because summer is approaching.  All it normally takes, is just one photo in which I see my ever rounding face.  Holy Toledo!!!  Is that really me?

Sometimes it’s a glimpse of arm waddle.  Or an unflattering bum shot.   Or a mere hint of thighs.  But most often, it’s the face.

And so I shall have to put Mildred on notice.  And warn her of her impending demise.

But here’s the thing with Mildred.  She is cunning.  And has super evil ways.  At the merest hint of a diet, she becomes all needy and demanding.  Wanting this!  Wanting that!  Craving the worst possible things.  Things that would normally not torment her at all.  Sooo bossy!

And therefore, I have to lure her into submission.  Trick her into thinking that we’re merely eating “healthier”.  Not dieting per se.  She finds that easier to adjust to.  And doesn’t kick her heels up half as much, if I do things the sneaky way round.

 

Because the second I mention the “D” word, she starts dreaming about Zinger wings.  And fries.  Gummy sweets and chocolate bars. 

In fact her nagging becomes near impossible to resist.  And so on occasion, I simply give in.  Just to make her shut her mouth.

And so the “D” word is banned.  And rather “healthier” eating is in.

But Mildred’s in for a nasty surprise.  I’m rather determined.  And will once again reign supreme.  I’ve given her the boot a few times over the years.  Most successfully too.

Still, she’s gutsy.  In more ways than one.  And attempts to take over.

Which is why I have to be ever vigilant and on the look-out, lest she breach my defences once more.

Be gone with you Mildred.  You’re not welcome here anymore.

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Mildred and her multi-layered chins

 

Mildred and her round pudding face - lots of thigh action too

 

Mildred and her chins

 

I understand why the female mantis eats her mate

I understand why the female mantis eats her mate
20 April 2013

The bravery of men!  Though perhaps it is not always bravery so much, as stupidity.

To give them their due, some of them are highly intelligent creatures.  Intuitive and wise in their dealings with us womenfolk.  They understand how to best soothe and pacify us.  That their attitude and indeed handling of us, can greatly benefit them.

But some of them?  Not such highly intelligent creatures at all.

And I would like to take this opportunity to humbly apologise to those rather bright and evolved men out there who read my blog.  Clearly you are an advanced form of the species.  This is no way reflects upon you.  You few choice individuals are not this foolhardy and daft (some might call it stupid).  You are given to caution before you speak, unlike your ungifted brethren out there (some might call them stupid).  You are sensitive and are in possession of a highly evolved emotional IQ, or rather EQ.  Unlike some other men.  Who just clearly are not (some might even call them stupid).

Perhaps the problem lies in the fact that men primarily engage only a certain part of their brain.  In fact sometimes an entirely different brain all together.  Not the conventional one, that is powered by grey matter, if you catch my drift.  Quite often, they do their thinking with their brain, which is located a bit to the south.

Personally, I too have suffered from moments where I have considered offing my man.  But then I pull back from the brink.  Just the thought of all the paperwork afterwards would drive me nuts and force reason and sanity to rear it’s sensible head.  As well as the thought, that for some crimes, death is simply too good.  Furthermore, I bet the female mantis suffers from terrible indigestion after her most gruesome meal. 

And so, one such example of male lack of brain engagement in particular comes to mind. 

Women tend to obsess about their weight.  I should know.  I happen to be a women.  And I unhappily obsess too.  With many women, Yo-Yo dieting is often the norm.  And one friend of mine, decided to diet once more.  Or rather again.  She had tried a few options in the past, and this one was a new one for her.  And to give her the credit that is due, she showed remarkable dedication in sticking to her diet.  She was committed and did not cheat at all.  What would be the point?  But dieting is very, very hard work.  You have to say no to temptation and side step many foodie pit stops and pitfalls along the way. Focus is key and keeping your eye on the end goal too.  And so, after a few dedicated weeks of sticking to her guns, she asked her dense husband if he had noticed a difference.  If her dedication was paying off.  If indeed she was in fact looking slimmer and skinnier yet.

And you know what he said?  That most foolish man.

"Your bum is not looking so bulbous anymore".

I think he really misses the sex.

 

This example of male ignorance, just reinforces my earlier statement, that I fully understand why the female mantis eats her mate.  Perhaps he too commented on the size of her bum…..

 

 

The curse of the ever present diet

 

 

Bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha!!!

 

This won't hurt a bit.

 

Mrs Mantis, contemplating her next meal...

 

 

So, I have a dealer, but should I take the drugs?

So, I have a dealer, but should I take the drugs?
29 October 2012

So my Grantie, fresh from his adventures in Namibia, has another upcoming do.  And this time, I am happy to report, it includes partners as well.  The cause for the shindig is a dealer conference-come-year-end-function type thingy.  Not exactly sure what the technical name of “the event” is (I keep on getting it wrong), but that there even is an event is enough info for me.  And so me, of the little air travel experience, is going to Durban for the weekend.  How zhoosh is that?  And the zhoosh doesn’t simply stop there, but rather, is multi-faceted.  “A” – I get to fly in an airoplane - for me of the little air travel experience, that's pretty huge. “B” – we’re staying in the Hilton dahling, the Hilton!  “C” – I’m assuming that seeing as Grant will be otherwise occupied on Saturday, during the course of the day, I will have some me-time.  Unless of course there are some elaborate plans to entertain the lady folk while the men are busy conferencing away.  “D” – I will not be cooking for a period of time.  “E” – I will not be cleaning, doing Jumping Castles, making kids sarmies, driving kids around, playing policeman in my kids disputes, do grocery shopping or be involved in any decision making (decision making is exhausting).  “F” – on Saturday night, we will be treated to a black tie event.  All very glamorous, I tell you.

However, to get from “A” right through to “F” involves a lot of planning, and yes, decision making.  I’ve farmed my business out to my neighbour’s children – a first for me.  They are all independent kids and quite wise for their years.  And they all have their own businesses and jobs to earn pocket money.  There is definitely a good work ethic going and my neighbours have clearly done well with their kids.  Yet, I will obviously do all the leg work and planning in advance, leaving them to merely be on hand to let Castles go out and receive them back again.  I have also farmed my kids out for the weekend.  All to different homes and their favourite friends to boot.  And I am extremely grateful to their parents, who are also my friends, for having my kids.  A none too easy task, as Luke starts with exams on Monday, writing Physical Science, no less.  It is indeed a very good friend who takes on another fourteen year old, when she also has to motivate her own fourteen year old and a sixteen year old to study at the same time.  Not mentioning a younger brother too.  The weekend also coincides with a school Fun Day, for which I have helped to arrange a stall, including duty shifts.  Something I feel badly about, as I’m asking parents to offer an hour of their time on Saturday, yet I won’t even be there to lend a hand myself.  If just feels cheeky and ever so off.

My big problem though, is the black tie event.  Because glamorous though it sounds, it obviously involves wearing a stunning outfit.  This is also not really a problem, as I have in my opinion at least, THE MOST BEAUTIFUL DRESS IN THE WORLD.  Seriously, it really is gorgeous.  I have the matching shoes.  I have a handbag that goes with it and I even know which jewellery to wear.  The problem, is fitting into the dress.  I can't just buy another dress.  For one, despite my children being convinced otherwise, money does not grow on trees.  Besides which, I love this dress and grab at any opportunity to wear it.  When I told my friend Thea about my problem she said “Just buy another dress”.  To which I replied “But I can’t.  I love this dress”.  And then my wise friend said “You will love another dress.  I never thought I could love another child, until Aidan came along”.  So, she had a point.  But still, I love my dress.  I have been dieting and dieting and I have already lost a few kilo’s that had crept up on me (I just don’t know when they did this creeping mind you). 

But with our event looming, I simply had to bite the bullet, go for broke and try the dress on this morning.  I had been too scared to do so up until this point.  And in fact, I didn’t need to try it on before starting to lose weight, as I just knew it would never fit then.  Well, imagine my pleasant surprise, when I slipped it over my head.  It fit me like a glove and I stood in front of my mirror glowing, making ga-ga eyes at the dress, admiring it yet again.  Until I remembered that I hadn’t zipped the back up yet.  I tried and tried and tried on my own.  I sucked in, I hunched my shoulders, I curled into a ball as small as I could, but to no avail.  So, I called my domestic worker, Monica, to help me.  She is a true miracle worker.  Why, the way she can sort my house out is incredible, and given her skills with domestic duties, I was sure she would zip me up quick-quick.  Well, she took one little tug at the offending zipper and said “yoh, yoh, yoh – it’s too fat now”.  As if my fragile ego could take anymore.  I begged and pleaded with her to try harder as I had to make this work.  But despite coaxing the dress and the zipper alike, they would not budge.  So, alas, as a last resort, I called on Grant as well.  I must say that by now all pretence of dignity had completely vanished.  They were both tugging and pulling.  Monica still clicking her tongue saying “yoh, yoh, yoh” the whole time and Grant doing a fair bit of grunting.

But finally, after a gigantic effort they zipped me up.  Sweet victory at last!  However, I could barely breathe, and my mammary glands were squashed pancake thin – most unattractive.  I would have to pull my stomach in the whole night, refrain from eating and drinking and allow myself to breath very shallow breaths at half hourly intervals only.  Funny enough, Grant prefers me when I’m breathing.  The thought of an unconscious wife at the company do holds little appeal.  I’ve told him he’s being very short sighted.  Because a huge fringe benefit to having me unconscious, is the fact that I would finally stop talking.  I like to fill silences with speech, a bad habit.  On the rare occasion that I get angry and I at least still talk to Grant, he knows that he’s okay and all will be well.  It’s when I get angry and stop talking that he worries, and ironically that’s when he starts filling silences with speech.    

So, I went to the Mall today, in search of a new dress.  Yes, I confess, I went and looked for a new dress.  Because though I’m ever so hopeful that I will still lose that last kilo or two, the possibility does exist that it might not happen and then what?  So, best I have a replacement ready for in case.  But here’s the thing – I really don’t want to cheat on my dress.  Her feelings would be hurt and she’s been so good to me – always making me look my best.  So, just perchance, I find myself walking past Clicks and for just a moment I was overcome with an insanity of sorts.  What if I tried some of those diet products that they advertise all of the time?  Rationally and logically I know that they’re all just hogwash and rubbish, and I don’t buy into the concept at all.  Because surely if you want to lose weight, the solution is quite obvious?  Eat less and more healthy at least, and exercise too.  Hardly difficult to realise that that is the only way.  But the allure of fast weight-loss made me walk down that aisle none the less.  The range of products astounded me.  As did their promises of quick instant success and their price tags as well.  I was uhming and aahing, thinking how one would choose?  So, I asked a shop assistant to guide me.  Said shop assistant said that she would be of no use, as she works in the kitchen department, but that I may consult the rep that was on hand from one of the weight loss companies, who was there promoting her products.

Right, I thought.  Like she’d be unbiased.  Naturally she would promote her brand, the most expensive one on the shelf.  When she asked me what I was looking for, I very simply stated that I had four days in which I needed to lose at least two kilo’s.  She dutifully steered me over to her shelf and showed me her products.  Running down the competition of course.  Hers were the best, most effective, most reliable and trustworthy, without a doubt.  I exclaimed dismay over the price of the mutie.  And then, every so slyly she called me over close with a “come over here”.  I followed her a bit further down the aisle, assuming she was going to try and pawn yet some more of her company’s products off onto me.

But instead, she leaned in real close.  Looked furtively around.  Lowered her head and whispered “I’ve got stuff”, to me.  Now in my opinion the word “stuff” is rather dubious.  And I should know – I use it myself, to cover a myriad of things.  And then upon seeing my blank look she told me that she had some highly illegal, yet highly effective weight-loss products that she could sell to me.  She told me it was illegal, that it contained masses of ephedrine and was classified as an anabolic steroid too.  Then if it was possible, she dropped her voice even lower and said “I’m a dealer”.  I can get you “the stuff”.  She told me exactly what it was called and how she herself had lost 7kg in just 2 days.  How her product was the real deal as there were many rip-offs on the market.  That she got “the stuff” from a factory (oh, as opposed to mixing it in your garage at home I take it), etc.  One of the miracle tabs I could pop was a quick boost weight-loss wonder drug, fondly called F.O.F, which stands for F… Off Fat.  Charming!  And so she went on and on. 

I swear my eyes nearly popped out of my head.  Part of me thought “perhaps she is wearing a wire (I know, I watch too much TV) and she wants to entrap me”.  Deftly whipping out her detectives badge after I bought some of “the stuff” and arresting me.  And a part of me thought “what if I’m the one wearing the wire (I know, I watch far too much TV) and I want to entrap her?”.  She warned me that she could lose her job, but still she went on, giving me the hard sale.  You know me?  The person she doesn’t know from a bar of soap and who could be wearing a wire (I know I…sorry).  Perhaps she was a bit high on some of her own tabs?

She warned me that I would get the shakes from taking the pills, but that the positives would outweigh (pun intended) the negatives.  Then she asked me if I exercised at all.  And am I not currently doing arm exercises to try and firm my flab up?  So I said “yes”.  Little was she to know that my arm exercises entailed me leaning against my coffee table with arms raised on the table, legs stretched out in front of me, dropping my bum, and using my arms to lift my body weight up again (backwards, you see).  And just so by the way, I’ve changed my exercise venue.  I used to do it on the base of my bed, to very little effect.  But I’ve found that since I’ve moved my spot to the coffee table and combine it with watching some TV at the same time, I’ve managed increase my stamina from 30 seconds to at least 45 seconds.  Impressive indeed.

Yet, feeling an urge to be slightly honest, I told her that I didn’t belong to a gym and that I only exercised (ja right) at home.  She told me “oh, that’s okay – I can smuggle you into the gym for a few days this week”.  My mouth literally dropped, yet she didn’t stop.  She really must have been high.  Or perhaps she has just cooked her brains from an ephedrine overdose?  She took a simply huge risk.  In a crowed and busy shop.  Wearing her USN clothes.  Approaching a complete stranger.  Putting her job on the line.  Doing irreparable damage to the legitimate company she is supposedly the front agent for.  A beautiful young girl.  She was slender and slim.  But so what?

If she could approach me so easily, how many others has she also approached?  How many new clients has she gained?  How has her little cottage industry style business expanded?  On the one hand she is quite clever.  Potential clients literally come to her, asking her for help.  And she is their miracle worker.  Telling them what they are desperate to hear.  The tablets are about R500 for a month’s supply and I wonder what her profit margin is?  She told me how to check if her product is real.  How you can go onto the anabolic steroid website.  How you type in the barcode of “the stuff” and how you then have a pop-up window appear on the screen, advising you that the goods are illegal and dangerous.

Did she perhaps influence any desperate young girls eager to fit into their Matric Farewell dresses?  Teenagers, who still need to nurture their bodies, not poison them.  I told her no thank you and that I would rather find another way.  She waved me off with a happy smile.  No concern as she surely had more business waiting just down the aisle, with another weight-loss sucker.

So, I didn’t find a new dress.  I will diet in my healthy manner some more.  And the dress will fit a bit better by the end of the week.  And if it doesn’t, it’s okay.  I will make another plan.

However, on second thought, I am willing to be a whistle blower for both Clicks and USN.  If I give them the name and identity of “my dealer”, instead of a normal monetary reward for my good deed, I will settle for taking payment in weight loss products instead.