When I’m on food restriction, food is all I can think about. And here I thought I had a problem before. Now I’m counting calories, sadly chomping vegetables I DO NOT LIKE, and guarding my stash of “allowable food items” like a lioness hoards her kill.
“Back off!” I hiss; yellow eyes burning.
My stomach was making angry-volcano rumblings last night. “Feed me!” it yelled, as Audrey II in “Little Shop of Horrors.” I sat straight up in bed and AH-HAed—I can have air popcorn!! The nanosecond the dry, puffy stuff came tumbling out of the popper, I grabbed the first handful and pushed it in my mouth so frantically I bit my finger…hard.
As my finger throbbed, and I felt a faint coming on from the pain—some things became rapidly clear:
1. How low I’d sunk
2. That I have the jaws of a bear
3. I taste pretty good.
4. I had become a desperate wolf, hungry for the “Three Little Pork Chops” (ahem, Pigs), “The Goat and Her Seven Lamb Chops” (whoops—kids), and all those other animals carnivorous, half-starved predators crave.
5. I am pathetic
Fred is ready to force-feed me a donut just to simmer me down. I have been very unpleasant these past few days. “Unpleasant” is my word; Fred has another word he uses. In my defense, I’m not at the point yet where I need to be strapped down to receive a spray of holy water …not yet anyway.
There really should be a hotel for people just starting a diet-- “The ‘No-More’ Suites.” There, hungry, grumpy people could be housed until Day 4, when the cravings subside and we stop clenching our fists, rocking back and forth murmuring, “French Bread” and chewing in our sleep. There, T.V. stations would be censored to exclude all mention of ice cream, hot-wings and juicy, gigantic burgers…(rapid head-shake), O.k., I’m back. Rooms would have thick walls to drown out the wails of guests who accidentally received a free pizza coupon under their door.
Once checked out of “The 'No-More' Suites”, I should able to control my mouth and eat properly without all those cravings. And my family can stop locking their doors at night.
Unless, of course, there’s a Kentucky Fried Chicken/Taco Bell combo mini-restaurant around the corner from the hotel…
My nose is sniffing one out even now.