This morning, I woke up at some godforsaken hour and couldn't go back to sleep. turned on the TV and there was Jane Fonda in The Electric Whore something.
Let me explain that I have been exercising and watching my diet for a month or more now in an effort to shed the baby weight that is stubbornly clinging to the skinny woman inside of me. She's running out of air and I'm running out of time.
I am walking for blocks on my lunch break--in high heels--and denying myself that Reese's peanut butter cup that I so desperately want. I am drinking enough water to float a barge and eating healthy snacks to stave off cravings. I am chewing gum and popping vitamins and doing everything I'm supposed to do since I'm not quite obese enough to qualify for the Biggest Loser--two more pounds and I'm there! Gillian, come whip my butt into shape!
And I look at Jane Fonda, remember her work out videos and that, even with one foot in the grave, she's still built better than me, and I got mad. I started swearing at the TV. I began punching my pillow. I seriously thought about grabbing a canister of ice cream and having a free for all.
I had to run into the store this morning before work. I caught myself snarling at a employee when they told me to stop sniffing the chocolates. His interruption, although dangerous for him, stopped me from stripping down and smearing Hershey's on my body.
I only had two buttons undone when he stopped me.
I have to say, to a dieting woman, seeing Jane Fonda is like waving a red flag in front of an angry bull. Or a donut in front of a hungry one.
I'm being good. I'm drinking my water and chewing my gum and I'll be walking at lunch again. But I really could have used a fat woman on TV this morning as a reminder that, even though my skinny chick is suffocating, at least I'm not her.
Is that too much to ask?
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