||[Jan. 26th, 2010|04:29 pm]
In case you were wondering,|
The answer to the question: "Can Meredith eat pistachios past the point of pain, lips splitting and dehydrated from licking the salt off the outside, tongue worn raw from holding the shell and fishing out the nut, teeth all jammed up with slivers of shell from cracking them, fingers even starting to shrivel from salt exposure, belly roll straining against spandex?"
Well, duh. Of course. Is yes. Resoundingly. Embarrassingly.
You could back me into a corner right now by just waving a lemon wedge in my general direction.
It's so frustrating. Because I KNOW how to lose weight. I can eyeball a proper portion size from 40 paces. I know calorie counts of most common foodstuffs and many unusual ones. You could give me a quiz on making good food choices and I will be in the 99th percentile without breaking a mental sweat.
But my mouth is the most sneaking, conniving, controlling, willful beast ever. Jabba the Hut was Milquetoast compared to my mouth.
That's why I have to laugh at all of the diet aids that promise to control the hunger -- with Hunger this little beasty that needs to be tamed.
I didn't get to be near 200 pounds becauseI was hungry. I got to be this big because I have turned my mouth into a bratty ten year old who gets whatever she wants.
Time to get out the choke chain and shock collars.
(Disclaimer: I would never treat a dog the way I treat my mouth. Although, I suspect if I ever met a dog that was anything like my mouth, I'd probably euthanize it, so as to not waste a perfectly good home on a sociopath.)