Monday morning and I’m starting my usual beginning-of-the-week diet again. Those rascally gals, Edith and Joy, have already made wagers as to how many days I’ll last this time. I know Joy has faith in me, but that Edith! If she wasn’t such a glutton with an enormous sweet tooth, I’d be able to stick to a diet. Besides, she’s a real bully and I admit, I’ve always been a bit of a pushover. If I just had more backbone, I’d stand up to her.
If you ask my husband, he’ll say that Edith and Joy don’t exist; says it’s all in my mind. Humph! Not in my mind – somewhere between my taste buds and stomach. That’s where Edith and Joy live.
Off to a good start this morning - oatmeal with fresh blueberries and skim milk. That flutter in my stomach is Joy doing her happy dance. I just love Joy; makes me feel good to make her happy. She’s that skinny girl in me trying to get out.
By ten o’clock my stomach’s rumbling, but I ignore it. It’s just Edith making her demands, “Hey, what about me?” Well, I’m the boss here. I will not succumb to her bullying today. Take that, you sneaky villain, I say with a smile.
Diet goes hand-in-hand with exercise so I decide to watch the Olympics. Those sleek, athletic girls playing beach volleyball are an inspiration. I want to look like that, although I’ll not disappoint my Lord by wearing a skimpy swimsuit in public like they do.
Fueled by this inspiration, I do a few jumping-jacks and torso-twists. Ugh! This is NOT fun. No more of that, but I promise myself to do some walking this evening.
I better shut that pesky Edith up, though. That gal simply does not know the meaning of self-control, a fruit of the spirit. Maybe some apple with peanut butter will keep her quiet. She likes peanut butter, although she prefers it in cookies or those Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. It’s a struggle to pull my mind from the image of chocolate surrounding peanut butter, but I do it.
I sail on through to lunchtime feeling good about myself. As I dig through the refrigerator gathering salad fixings, I notice all those plastic bowls containing leftovers from the feast our family had after church yesterday. “Hm, some of that can be thrown away,” I say out loud for Edith’s and Joy’s benefit. “I’ll do that after I eat lunch.”
I love salads, and that’s no lie. I just wish they were more filling. I could throw some shredded cheese, avocado, walnuts, dried cranberries and a handful of M&M’s on it. Wait! What? I didn’t mean that about the M&M’s. Not sure how that slipped in there.
I watch the Olympic gymnastics competition while I eat my salad. My, oh my! I don’t think God created our bodies to twist and contort like that. Those girls fly in the air while twisting and turning and still manage to land on their feel. That certainly isn’t natural. I can’t help but smile. Just wait until they get to be my age. They’ll regret torturing their bodies like that. I’m sure they’ve injured joints and muscles that they’re just not aware of yet.
Sighing, I get off the sofa determined to clean out the refrigerator. I line all the bowls on the counter. Some I’ll save for my husband, some I’ll throw away. Mixed vegetable. Back in the fridge. Potato casserole. Back in the fridge. Meatloaf. Back in the fridge. Half a slice of banana cream pie. Back in the…now wait a minute. Bananas are healthy, aren’t they? And it’s only a half slice.
Rinsing the empty bowl and putting it in the dishwasher, I look back in the refrigerator. There should be a couple of leftover brownies that escaped the clutches of my grandchildren. Ah, yes, bless that Edith’s heart. I’m sure it was her that helped me remember that I’d hidden them in the vegetable bin. Clever of me!
Washing my hands after a restroom break, I’m stunned to see chocolate crumbs and yellow smudges around my mouth. That darned Edith; I can’t believe she tricked me into that. No worries, I just won’t eat dinner and get on the treadmill instead.
There’s my phone. “Sorry, Joy”, I mumble after hanging up, “my husband’s taking me out to dinner tonight. “Seriously, Joy, if you weren’t such a wimp, you’d send that Edith packing.”
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