I’ve worked it out, I’ve worked it out, I finally know why I haven’t lost – frankly – any weight over these last nine weeks. I’ve been walking home three to four times a week and mostly being careful with how much I eat and drink (mostly), but have so far only been able to drop a whole ONE BLOODY KILO! But now I know why and it makes so much sense I’m amazed I didn’t realise it earlier. The reason why I’m not loosing the pounds is because I’m dating a feeder!
It happened like this: Last Sunday Beautiful Creature (who shall for now on be only known as “BC”) and I were sitting in the Westfield Parramatta food court, enjoying our Muffin Break coffees – you can’t say that the two of us don’t know how to party! We’re sipping flat whites and nibbling on egg and bacon pie (me) and double extra rich chocolate brownie (he). My E&B pie was lovely and savoury, just the thing for a quick and easy breakfast, and BC’s brownie was lavishly rich with gooey chocolate icing perfectly decorated with a single walnut. BC’s offer for a taste was greatly accepted but it was the yummy pie that was doing it for my taste buds that morning. It wasn’t long before I had cleaned my plate complete of pie and flaky crumbs. BC was only halfway through his choccy treat.
He put down his fork. “Sweetie, why don’t you finish this?”
‘Thanks hon,” I said. “I’m pretty good.”
“No,” BC replied, pushing his plate towards me, “You should finish this.”
I shook my head and smiled. “That’s ok, I’m pretty full, but thank you.” I took another gulp of my coffee, which actually wasn’t that bad considering it was made by a scrunchie-wearing 12 year old.
BC put down his cup with a slight thud. He turned his shoulders slightly towards me. “No, Clyde,” he said, “I want you to finish this.” He picked up his fork and placed it in my hand. And so, more out of politeness than desire, I took a little slice of the brownie and ate it, making lots of “mmmm” noises. I put the fork back down.
“Ooo, I’m full now. That was delicious!” I said sitting back in my chair and patting my tummy.
‘But you haven’t finished it,” said BC, and he pushed the plate over further.
Well, by now I feared for my own safety. I tried to make eye contact with the Muffin Break assistant who was cleaning away cups at a nearby table, but she was too concerned with soaking up a small pool of spilt coffee to notice. Another customer smiled politely back before moving herself, her shopping trolley, her baby pusher, and her five other children to a further away table. I realised I was alone.
BC stared, grinning at me. I could see flints of madness in the corners of his eyes. I smiled back but I knew that I had lost the war. I picked up the tainted fork and heaped the remainder of the over-sweet sweet – walnut and all – into my mouth. I chewed slowly, the chocolatey icing oozing down my throat, then swallowed. Traces of the cake coated my mouth and my tongue licked madly searching to eliminate any stubborn crumbs. I washed the remaining traces of the brownie down with the rest of my coffee.
BC smiled. He lightly squeezed my thigh before moving his hand higher and patting me on the tummy. He leant closer towards me. “I like it when you eat,” he said, and gave my belly a little rub.
Then he walked me down to the train station and I went home.
Scales. Let’s see: 85.2.
(You may get the impression that I’m pretty much over this and just going through the motions. To that all I can say is: shame on you for being so astute!)