December 7, 2013
I just took a shower–and a good naked look in the mirror. And I’m thinking, “Should I sue Farmer and the Cook for the weight I’ve gained back after that three-week juice fast two years ago?”
When I’m standing in line at Vons, I’m never tempted to buy KitKat bars or Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. But, for some reason, when I’m waiting around at the Farmer, with my basket filled with cucumbers, carrots, oranges, fresh hummus, containers of fresh vegan corn, tomato, or squash soup, Mary’s Gone Crackers, and other good intentions, by the time it’s my turn at the register I’ve weakened and I hear myself telling the incredibly young, slim, vital-looking checker to please get me an oatmeal chocolate chip cookie, a banana walnut muffin, a couple of birdseed cookies, and a raw mango pastry out of the glass bakery case so strategically placed within arm’s reach of the register.
I tell myself I’ll nibble these treats as a reward while I’m writing, but when I woke up this morning, the cookies and muffins I bought at 6:00 p.m. last night were nowhere to be found. Except around my waist.
Among the many fatal errors I made this year was not having a full-length mirror in the bathroom. I do get an occasional glimpse of myself in the mirrored wall at Sacred Space Studio when I teach–and for a split second I wonder who is that chunky old woman–but then my eyes focus back on my students who mercifully (for the most part) love me just as I am.
But, I kid you not: there is a tactless woman in a class immediately after one of mine who, week after week, flat-out tells me, “Why’d you let yourself get so fat again? You were looking so good after that juice fast!” She repeats this every time we cross paths, like a broken record, and makes me want to tell her, “I’d rather be fat than a skinny bitch like you!”
I just smile enigmatically and say nothing. It would take too long to explain the complexities of my psyche and life situation.
Last week, when she asked me for the umpteenth time why I’ve gained so much weight, I laughingly replied, “I knew you were going to say that!” Then she gave me the nicest smile and said, “I don’t know why I give you such a hard time!”
I blame it all on moving back to the river bottom in Meiners Oaks, with the Farmer and the Cook conveniently located on my route home. The magnetic pull of their sesame seed birdfeeder cookies with that generous dollop of strawberry jam in the center is stronger than my desire to be slim.
At least for now. Things can change on a dime.
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