“I can’t believe this! I can’t… get… these pants buttoned! How am I going to get into my bathing suit next month when we go to the beach?” I whined to my husband.
“Sweetheart, you look fine,” responded my sweet Jake.
“You’re a smart man, but it’s okay honey, I can handle the truth. I’ve gained a little weight and I’m ready to do something about it!”
“If that’s what you want to do honey, I know you can do it!” he encouraged me, giving me a little pat on my cushioned caboose as he walked past me.
Did he roll his eyes at me? Probably. He’s heard this from me at least a hundred times.
“I’m serious Jake, I’ve had it. I’m going to eat healthy and exercise.” I shot back in a determined tone, following him into the kitchen.
“And I’m giving up all chocolate until we get to the beach!” I blurted out.
I chose to ignore him.
Day one was easy. I was motivated and ready to sacrifice at all costs. I started my day with a protein shake. Lunch was a salad and dinner was a divine salmon filet with broccoli and brown rice.
When the alarm sounded the next morning, my body begged for another ten minutes, but I knew my walking shoes were calling. I gently extracted my sore body out of bed. I had over done it at jazzercise class the day before. Wearily, I pulled on my jogging suit and set out the door for a thirty minute walk.
Day four, my body began saying things to me. Things I didn’t want to hear. I suddenly realized my taste buds and my bathing suit were diabolical enemies. As the days wore on, I constantly refereed these two fighting foes.
I’m not eating chocolate till we get to the beach? Did I really say that? What was I thinking? Why didn’t I remember; I’m a certified chocoholic. Thank God it was only two weeks till we left. Surely I could hold on for just two more weeks.
“Only three days til vacation!” Jake announced.
“It can’t come soon enough!” I growled.
Jake grabbed me and squeezed me tight. “Sweetheart, you’ve done so good. You’ve lost what, 6 pounds now?”
“Seven!” I muffled back, my mouth pressed to his chest, my arms straight and limp.
I was not enthused. I just wanted my chocolate. But I knew I couldn’t go back on my word. Jake would never let me live it down.
Jake let me go and looked at me. “I’m proud of you. Just hang in there and I’ll take you to that little Italian place on the boardwalk, where they have that chocolate truffle mousse pie you love so much.
“Thank you, I will take you up on that, but I just don’t say the “c” word till we get there.”
Those last three days, I stayed busy washing clothes, packing, and running errands before we left town. This helped keep my mind off my deprived taste buds.
As I began to pack my suitcase, I smiled as I neatly placed my bathing suit on top of my Hershey’s beach towel. The irony of it made me laugh. My husband bought it for me as some sort of sick motivation. I guess it worked. For two weeks I had kept my bathing suit and my Hershey’s Chocolate Bar towel on top of my dresser to remind me of the war I was waging to look good in that blasted bathing suit.
Finally the day arrived. As we set off to the beach, the sun greeted us and was our constant companion all the way to our seaside bungalow. After getting unpacked, Jake suggested we take our traditional walk on the beach. I made quick work of putting on my bathing suit.
I turned to look in the mirror, to finally see the results of all my sacrifice. I looked in the mirror and a deep sense of satisfaction came over me. Wait, there’s only one thing that could make this better. I dug deep in my purse that I’d purposefully packed. I extracted a Hershey Special Dark Bar. I tore off the wrapper and sunk my teeth into that delightfully delicious, dark, heaven-sent treat…my sweet, precious joy.
Looking in the mirror, chocolate melting in my mouth, I felt utter joy. My taste buds were finally happy and temporarily at peace with my bathing suit.
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