I want to eat fattening foods like chocolate cake and tons of frosting with a large glass of milk, egg rolls that are crisp and greasy and amazing. Thick vanilla milkshakes that I can barely sip through a straw. I want pupu platters served to me with a little bit of everything fried. Prawns and cocktail sauce, sweet and sour meatballs, pigs in blankets; it’s beginning to sound like I want my Bat Mitzvah at the age of 53… I also want potato pancakes crisp and brown, with applesauce that has a lot of added sugar in it. I want surf and turf, a dish of melted butter for the lobster, Béarnaise sauce for the steak, Hollandaise sauce for the asparagus and I will add my own additional salt, thank you. And, I want the thick, steak cut French Fries that I saw yesterday when I was eating my meager salad, drinking ice water with lemon. I want to sit down for a 6 course meal at a restaurant where I don’t have to get up and out of my chair every 5 minutes to get someone something they want from the refrigerator. A napkin, soft drink, pasta, tomato sauce, knife, fork, jelly (ok,that’s for me) ketchup, steak sauce, spritzy red salad dressing and food for the dog with gravy from the turkey we roasted two days ago.
I want to not even have heard of the words calorie, carbs, obesity, camps for overweight kids (in the NY Times Magazine section) and plus sizes. And, I want that new company Pajama Jeans to buck up and make these for people larger than a size 0-2 or 10-12, same thing. I don’t want to join a gym or power walk or use a treadmill, stair master, rowing machine, and do free weights. I want to obliterate the word weight and the doctors in this country that are so obsessed with it. Give me a very large internist and sign me up for my physical. Not the skinny cold bitch internist that I have now whose “if- I- can- go- the- gym -at -5am- and- have -Dr. hours -and- be- a- single- parent- than- you- can -do- it -too.” Shut up you condescending bitch, I hate you, with your petite figure and dyed hair and expensive ensembles and the bedside manner of a tray of over-frozen ice cubes with freezer burn.
I want to stop denying myself all the GOOD food and screw you Weight Watchers you know you can’t eat everything on your meal plan. You want vanilla, coconut cake? Sure, have a crumb of coconut, that’s all you are entitled to, that will be 537 points, but it’s okay, you can have it. Enjoy. Enjoy, my ass.
I also don’t want to worry about every little thing that comes into my brain, every which way. I want to go to the Asian Fusion restaurant in my neighborhood for lunch with my friend that will last 3 hours and share jasmine tea that costs a small fortune. After that, I want dessert, lots of different types of desserts that I can savor for as long as I want. Strong, Starbucks coffee with a lot of steamed milk and Sweet N Low. This is my fantasy and that’s how I want it.
I will not walk off my meals nor will I exercise. I will go home and take a 3 hour nap and then wake up and the two feet of snow that has come down in the last day will be over and I will not see it again until I want to. Which might be never because I am sick and tired of cold weather that makes my bones ache and my mind feel claustrophobic. I will burrow under a down blanket, worn with age, and two more blankets on top of it and not come up until Spring.