When You Literally Can’t For Your Own Fat Bastardness*

burger pic miniature.jpg
Dinner is served.

So I read this really troubling thing yesterday. I was googling why am I fat – as one does – and I read that, past the age of 45 (which I am by 3, okay, 15 months) if you continue to eat what you did when you were in your twenties and thirties you will more than likely gain around 8kgs per year until you die. Which means that 10 years from now I will not be able to write this blog anymore because I’ll be taking up an entire king size bed and have a ventilator and a TV table holding a portable deep fryer where I’ll spend my days whipping up batches of bengali fritters while the producer from My 600 Pound Life asks me questions about my childhood and how this all happened and there won’t be space in all that gedoente for a laptop.

And the answer will not even be a mystery. I’ll tell that producer the truth. I’ll tell him about how, if you don’t start eating like an anorexic ant, this is what happens to you and so he’d better be careful. Also, wine. According to that sad article wine is just about the worst thing you can imbibe past 5pm, though food of any sort rates pretty high too. And my question to the writer of that article is the following: What is the point of life if you can’t imbibe food and wine past 5pm? What? And when are you supposed to drink said wine, in that case? Because I don’t know if breakfast would really be the best time in terms of productivity and getting your kids to school. The truth is that my whole day pretty much consists of waiting patiently (and sometimes not patiently) until I get to the point where somebody who loves me whips out a cold bottle of chardonnay and says there, there while they make my glass be very full and then they cook me an XL portion of pasta with bacon.

And this is due to the fact that all day long I’ve been driving around and doing stuff and watching kids play netball. What for the rudeness that now I must have water and cress? No. Not at all. So I suppose I must resign myself to this sad fate and be happy for small miracles, like the fact that my track suit pants and some of my jeans still fit me even though I refuse to accept that a bowl of cherry tomatoes will ever constitute a meal. For a while, in my twenties, I was au pair to the kids of somebody quite famous. She was very, very thin and not at all opposed to a dinner of cress. Cress was her middle name. Sometimes her landline would ring (that’s how long ago this was) and I would hear her saying, ‘I’ve just got in, can I phone you back once I’ve had some lunch?’

And I would pretend to play with the child but actually I’d be watching, closely, to see what lunch was going to be. Because, god knows, her fridge was a veritable feast of pork pies and patés and expensive things with prawns and I’m perpetually hungry and always envious of anybody who is eating. And I can tell you for free that if that was my fridge, lunchtime would be festive. And she’d stand and stare at these delicious items for a while as if trying to remember what real food tasted like and then make herself a plate of undressed lettuce leaves which she’d wash down with black coffee. And while I pitied her in her madness I was also a little bit jealous of the fact that sometimes she’d put on her 4-year-old’s jeans by mistake and look rather fabulous if I say so myself.

And these are the options you face if you’re a girl. Either – like me – you eat the XL pasta and anticipate life in a fat bed or you chop an Israeli cucumber into tiny little pieces and eat it with a toothpick. And it’s not even really a choice. Sometimes I hear people say, golly, it’s nearly dinner time and I haven’t eaten today. I forgot. And I’d like to say, come here, no closer, no closer, and just slap them quite hard. The day I forget to eat you can guarantee I’ve been abducted by aliens who are using my face. This is not really me, help! Anyhow. I suppose what I’m doing right now is called ranting because again, it’s a few weeks before I’m due to go on holiday someplace warm where a bathing costume is a distinct possibility and again – even though I swore I wouldn’t let this happen – I’m lardy-girl-pass-the-grey-poupon** and wondering if drinking get thin milkshakes for 7 days will make me lose 5kgs or I should just give up and resign myself to that nice king size bed. I’ll let you know which way this all goes.

*Please don’t everyone write to me and say, but you’re so skinny. I’m not, and I’m also not fat. Like most of us, I’m somewhere in the middle and wrote this on a day when I felt – like most of us do some days – porky. That’s all.

** Wayne’s World reference – the old people will understand.


27 thoughts on “When You Literally Can’t For Your Own Fat Bastardness*

  1. Another wonderfully entertainig blog. True as you get older (I’m 67) your metabolism lets you down and your weight creeps. For me eating Cress and not drinking wine everyday not an option, but exercise is. Walk 5kms a day, earphones plugged in – or not (mobile meditation) and you’ll be in charge, hungry and thirsty :)

      1. There is so much evidence in the form of solid research showing that, while exercise is fantastically good for you, it is NOT the route to weight loss.

  2. Thing is I think thin until I go to the hairdresser every 6 weeks and see myself for real. And then I realise growing up thin is worse than growing up a bit larger cos that thin 12 yrd old is still in your head when you hit the dinner table. Later for the toothpick sizes. So either I am destined for a helluva shock every 6 weeks or I must change the picture in my head. Either option is dismal.

  3. I think I wet myself for the first time in a long time reading this…..I can so relate. My best is when I genuinely feel thin for the first time in ages and then hop on a scale excitedly only to discover that I have stayed exactly the same. The wine thing is also an issue – wine for me is PURE JOY – sharing it with friends is one of my favourite things to do…. I will accept the extra 5Kg’s stubbornly hugging my midrif and just take another swig in the hope that I may forget about it temporarily :-) Interestingly my 82 year old mum stopped eating after 6pm in her late 60’s and lost heaps of weight and has stayed tiny for a long time. But as a Nutritional therapist I am 100% sure this is just down to overall calorie intake – not time of day…

    1. Research tells us that fasting for about 14 or so hours (ie overnight) is a great way to loose weight and keep it off. So think your Mum is onto something reaL

  4. The excitement when your blog pops into my inbox! The joy and happiness I experience. And today, possibly one of your finest. I love you so much and can relate. Just had a week in beautiful Madagascar and my daughter asked me on the plane ‘are you really going to wear a swimming costume Mom??”
    Love you to bits

  5. I never knew I was channelling a younger me across the ocean! Try learning a sexy style of dancing when your body looks like a potato on legs!!! The best thing ever to happen to bathing suits was the realisation that the sun is bad for our skin and woo hoo- rash vests- when patterned they are perfect for disguising all those unsightly lumps and bumps :)

      1. I am always in hysterics when I read it as a South African in London. Cape Town is having a gekakte dag with the whole water drama though 😞 Keep up the exceptional work Kelly x

  6. Very funny. I’ve just returned from a trip to Italy where pasta and pizza tastes nothing like ours made here. What was I thinking when I thought I am in for a few extra kg’s going there. I stopped eating after late lunch until the hotel breakfast next morning, because it was just difficult for us to get a decent plate of food (included was the most awful fish dish) anywhere in 9 cities/towns and I climbed the volcanic mountain in Pompeii. I bent two forks trying to cut through a tomato based & little cheese only pizza. So we would kinda starve till next morning and go to bed on an apple or small yoghurt. I waked for 6hrs daily to get around between sit-down cappuccinos and thought I’d lose at least 5kg, but there’s no evidence of that. Hop on & off tours don’t count, because you still walked a mile to the nearest attraction. I’m not heavy or super slim, but I would have liked to lose the 5kg as a reward.

  7. I lived in Canada for quite some time and enjoyed reading your blog. It kept me sane during the long snowy cold Winter months and made me laugh and longed to be back the same time. We just arrived back in the country a few weeks ago and I just want to tell you that your blog brings me even more joy now that I am back on Afrcan soil.

  8. I just turned 45 and put on a kilo every time I walk down the bread aisle. I cannot wash my jeans or I’ll never get them on again. Why can’t salad taste like bread?

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