I’ve been trying to avoid The mirror, A mirror, Any mirror for about a month. I finally faced my worst fear and stood, butt naked in front of the full length one in my flat on Saturday night. Post Wagamamas.
The phrase “a sight for sore eyes” sprung to mind. And not in a good way.
Thank God for the temporary healing power of White Zinfandel.
Whether the lack of gym activity for a month or the increase in food-to-mouth activity can be blamed I’m not sure. Suffice to say – I can unfortunately, only really blame myself. No one forces me to stuff my face with all the good stuff. Unless you count the multiple personalities that lie within.
I caught up the The Smiths on Sunday. Youngest Son Smith has recently completed a NLP course. Neuro Linguistic Programming. Means nothing to me either. But he says that I can train my brain to alter my relationship with food. Or something like that. He has known me for literally all his life, and knows that I have been trying (not hard enough mind) to not be a fat old lard arse for about 20 years. He claims the secret to cracking this nut once and for all is not hard. He agrees that I am a relatively intelligent person. That is, I know that eating less and exercising more is the true path to happiness. I also know that bread is the food of the devil and no good can ever come from eating a loaf of Tiger bread as a treat on a Saturday afternoon. However, he reckons that with a bit of “reframing” I can succeed where all of this sensible talk has failed.
I’m feeling positive. Although the sight of me naked did nothing to stop me eating a whole family size tub of Rachel’s Rhubarb Yogurt for breakfast. Sometimes I really really hate myself.