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Hey! I can tell you where to shove that salad!

As I was on the phone with my mom earlier this week, I found myself complaining endlessly. I moaned about how Aura needed to poop more, how the rain has been washing pricey mulch down our driveway, how companies are killing the planet by sending me a thousand catalogs a week. I was just ramping up for a good grouse about cracks in the kitchen-tile grout when my mother interrupted me.”A lot’s been going on!” she mustered (lied) bravely.

“I know!” I exclaimed in agreement. “But why am I so crabby?”

Then it hit me. I WAS HUNGRY.

About two weeks ago, I went back on Weight Watchers, determined to lose the 10 or so post-Aura pounds I’m always harping about. I’ve been off and on the Weight Watchers program for years, ever since I gained—and then lost—a lot of weight sophomore year of college. As long as I follow the rules, WW works, without fail.  

The world's oldest WW Points Finder. Notice non-diet-approved grease stain in center. Also, corners dogeared from famished death grip.

Yet somehow it seems SO MUCH WORSE this time. After months of not being all that diligent, I find myself lusting after that which I now can’t have, then trying to devise ways I can have it. Such mental effort is exhausting. And when I get tired, I get really peevish. Throw in starvation and I’m Someone to Avoid. Also, Someone to Divorce or Declare Emancipation From.

It’s gotten so bad that the good, decent part of me is becoming buried under the hungry, ruthless part of me. While I was eating lunch the other day, I saw one of those TV ads with Sally Struthers, where she asks for donations to help starving children in Africa. As I sipped my fat-free vegetable soup and watched, my first thought was, “Those poor kids. They don’t deserve such an awful life.” But then right after that I thought, “I bet those little buggers are REALLY, REALLY GRUMPY.”

Yes, yes. I know I'll end up here for that last sentence.

Such a restriction of calories is getting in the way of normal life—and normal behavior, for that matter. Case in point: Yesterday, one of the other preschool moms asked if Aura and I would like to join her and her little girl for an afterschool bakery trip. I looked at her, aghast. How was I supposed to sit in a bakery, its confines practically wallpapered with buttercream frosting? I opened my mouth to yell, “What’s next? Giving me a crack pipe, then LIGHTING IT FOR ME?” but thought better of it. Starving, yes. Certifiably loony, not quite yet. At least in public.  

From the actual bakery's Web site. You see what I mean. (Droooool.)

So far, three pounds down. I may waste away before I lose the other seven. Either that or be committed somewhere with padded walls but hopefully yummy food. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to stare down a box of cookies.

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