This is how you know you think about food far too much.
Recently I was lugging my hefty arse homeward up the hill, when I caught sight of a sign above a shop on the high street. Half the sign was obscured as I went around the corner, so I could only see:
N T A L
E R Y
Ooh wow! My heart skipped with excitement. Continental Bakery! There’s a bakery in this wee town! Happy days. But then I got closer and saw the whole thing.
D E N T A L
S U R G E R Y
How bloody sad am I?
. . .
Apologies for the lack of updates, work has been hellish. As for the Wednesday Weigh-In, I decided not to last week. I got on the scales last Monday night to find I was 3.5 kilos heavier than the previous weigh in. 3.5 kilos gained in 5 days? What the bloody hell!?
I can’t believe I am going to write about this, but I have always vowed to be honest about my weight loss adventures. And my adventures this past week just so happen to revolve around the complete TURMOIL in my digestive system.
I have never, ever had any problems with this sort of thing in my life but last week was crazy! Who knows why it happened? SC and I speculated at great length. Perhaps it’s the move to a mostly vegetarian diet, or the raging PMS, or the two under-ripe pears I ate (schoolgirl error, by the way – eating ONE under ripe pear is forgivable but to reach straight back into the fruit basket and scoff another?!).
Anyway, I was alarmed that after just five weeks of marriage our conversations had already degenerated into bodily function analysis. SC has no problems with this; he could talk for hours about the tonal variations of farts, how different foods prompt different pitches. Myself on the other hand had to admit to being somewhat of a bodily functions prude.
It took almost a year before I even so much as farted in front of SC. He was restrained at first, until Christmas Eve 2003 when I made a lentil curry for dinner. I was walking back to my room having taken our dirty plates to the kitchen, and there he was with his butt poised over the open window ledge and a guilty look on his face. What a gentleman, directing his farts out into the cold night air! These days he lets them rip any time and any place, quite often offering me a finger to pull.
Anyway, I can fart in front of him now but once we moved in I was rather self conscious about the toilet, as we’re only in a small flat and the walls are thin. So I tend to wait til the music is up loud before I go. Or wait til I’m at work. I confessed this to him last Monday night right after I’d confessed that I was having "problems".
"You wait til you’re AT WORK? Wouldn’t you be even more afraid of making noise?"
"Oh I’m pretty stealth, but as a precaution I go around 9.30 – 10 AM when everyone’s still at their desks drinking their coffee."
"Why don’t you just go here? I won’t hear anything! I won’t make fun of you!"
"But you DO already! Whenever I’m in the bath and I shift around and the bath makes that creaky squeaky noise I can hear you in the next room going, ‘AAHHAHAHA!’, even though it’s just THE BATH!"
"Well why don’t you just say to me, ‘Turn the music up, I’m going in!’"
Then he went on to say I shouldn’t be self conscious especially now we’re married and stuck with each other – I should just get in there and LET IT ALL OUT! What a sweetheart. But the next evening there had still been no movement at the station, I was in total agony – nauseous, crampy and almost crying because my stomach was so rock-hard bloated. Plus I’d "gained" another half-kilo. He was so sweet, I could see a million off-colour jokes running through his head but he managed to hold back!
Then next day I got home from work and instead of Hello Darling I got a gleeful, "I’ve been reading about constipation on the Internet!". He’d trekked to the chemist and got me some horrid little green pills. I took one as directed and now we just had to wait 10 to 12 hours for the "predictive relief" to kick in. That night as we drifted off to sleep he said, "All this anticipation, it’s worse than Christmas Eve. What a week – the new MotoGP season starting and waiting for your pills to work – I cannae stand the excitment!"
He called me at lunchtime the next day, "Soooo… how are… things?"
"Things are FINE, thank you! The building has been safely evacuated! Crisis averted!"
Anyway, like I said, I dunno why this happened but I hope I never have to go through that excruciating pain again. Sorry to share that with you but I wanted you to know why I could not face the scale on Wednesday. Things are fine now and those 3.5 kilos are disappearing. I am back on track with my exercise; this running program is HELL but I know it is good for me but that’s another entry altogether! I think that’s quite enough for one day, eh?