We all have our dirty little secrets. The funny, the uniquely human aspect of these small vices is that they’re generally not near as secret as we think and, as a rule, there are about ten thousand others privately behaving the same way.
Me? I eat when I’m bored. Or fighting with my husband, or mother, or dog. I graze because I’m sad. I indulge to celebrate a victory. Or to drown my sorrows over a defeat. I nibble when I read, mindlessly munch while watching TV.
You get the picture.
Now. Since I weigh forty pounds more than I should, there is no way on God’s green earth this behavior is a secret to anyone and yet part of my enjoyment in this activity is the guilty pleasure in pretending no one suspects that the majority of my kick-around-the-house clothes are stained with dribbles of chocolate, and that all my pants are two sizes bigger than they were ten years ago,
Seriously, who do I think I’m kidding?
I’ve tried any number of diet plans. The problem is they stress me out and we all know what I do when I’m stressed. Or, I lose a pound or two and, in celebration…well, you see where this goes. So I’ve come up with a new plan. I can’t believe I haven’t thought of it before.
I’m training a service animal to help me with my eating disability.
When I overeat, snack endlessly, frantically tear apart the cupboard looking for those last two Ritz crackers and the jar of peanut butter – the dog will bite me in the ass.
Hey. This might be my last hope.