In Which I Blather On About Dieting. Again.

I'm a little obsessed. It's starting to get worrisome. Everything in my life is about what I am eating, or what I'm not eating, or whether I appear to be gaining weight or losing weight, or how my weight gain or loss makes me feel. I feel like I've become a very boring conversationalist. Although, as much as I'm worried about it, I must not be worried about it enough, because I'm about to talk about it some more. Please endeavor to contain your excitement.

So here's my thing: it's bad enough that men lose weight so much faster than women do and with half as much effort, but the fact that they also don't have to contend with PMS makes it that much more irritating. Is it too much to ask that they have to put up with a week-long festival of bloat and water-retention so that when they step on the scale, despite the fact that they've been so very good about their diet and exercise programs, they face a 5 pound weight gain? Or what about the part where, seeing the scale's number increasing over the course of a week, they have to make a decision about whether to surrender to their cravings for chocolate and pastries or to have faith that it IS just the PMS causing the weight gain and not that their efforts have been in vain?

I mean, come ON! We have to deal with the raging hormone swings that make our spouses wonder how much it might cost to hire a hit-man and whether they could cover their tracks well enough to avoid jail and still pick up the insurance payout. (Not that Oscar has said anything about that directly but I know him pretty well.) We have to deal with the discomfort and inconvenience of the cramps and the bleeding. We have to deal with pushing a wriggling, screaming watermelon out a tiny little garden hose. Do you think we could catch a break somewhere and maybe LOSE weight during our cycles instead of having to pull our fat-jeans out of the closet and trying to avoid looking directly in the mirror? Of course not.

For me? It just makes the whole healthy lifestyle/weight loss plan seem rather hopeless. And that's a dangerous thing to feel, because after "hopeless" comes "depressed" and after "depressed" comes "comfort eating" and after "comfort eating" comes "orgy of chocolate, ice cream, cake, and donuts." And as much as I love smearing pastries all over my body in spasms of ecstasy, it is kind of hard to get the chocolate frosting out of my sheets.

So far, I've managed to stay strong, but I am not placing bets on how much longer that will last. Particularly since it seems that every holiday comes with its own special candy section in my local Target store. I mean, I get the Easter thing, but if/when we get Memorial Day candy, I think I will throw in the towel. At that point, I will just have to assume that the universe wants me to gorge myself on chocolate and I will stop fighting the universe.