This is my idea of heaven right now. To walk into my favorite restaurant, take my usual seat at the bar in the corner and watch the evening unfold. To order starter, main course and dessert and bottle after bottle of wine followed by brandy, cognac, calvados…all without a guilty twinge. Pure heaven.
But I’m practicing more restraint these days. Oliver and I are on a diet right now. A diet of sorts, or a sort-of-diet if you will.
After eating all the food we thought we would have to live without in China, and then consoling ourselves with all the food we could eat in Oman, and then treating ourselves by eating all the seasonal holiday food at Christmas and then celebrating with all the winter vacation and New Year’s wining and dining, we were feeling decidedly proper and portly in January. One might have spun it as cuddly, insulated, curvy or comfortable, but to be honest we were visibly porky, inflated versions of our normal selves.
My breaking point came when even my stretchy jeans no longer fit and my fat pants were ruled out as an option because the only belt that went with them had been stretched out and rendered unwearable by my other half. I was out of options. I had reached rock bottom.
We talked, we planned and schemed and then we got realistic. We made a deal: no eating out during the week, no booze, low fat, low calorie, more exercise. Elaborate dinners were replaced with sauna, movies and yoga, wine and beer was exchanged for water. In turn we implemented a kosher weekend furlough: from sundown on Friday until sundown on Sunday everything is allowed. (I got the idea from an article about the 1950’s housewife diet, which balanced restraint with an occasional splurge.)
Anyone who has really dieted is probably yelling at the screen right now that this is total bullshit, and for people who are very much overweight they might be right. In our case, it’s working.
This has resulted into a healthy lifestyle change for us. We’re sleeping and feeling better. The weight is dropping off slowly but surely too. Last night I put on ‘the’ jeans. Expensive jeans that had shrunk slightly in the wash and were tight during my pre-wedding days. When I tried them on last year, muffin top was an understatement. I’d come close to giving them to our cleaning lady’s teenage daughter, but stubbornly refused to accept that I would never fit into them again.
Last night I held my breath, thought positive thoughts and put them on. Eureka! Then I went and tried on every piece that had humiliated me in the past year and paraded around the apartment. It’s been a long time since the act of getting a button into a hole carried with it such a feeling of victory. It’s just the motivation I need to come out of a four day weekend of eating and drinking in Austria with the same jean size.