We are family

Now that I’ve introduced Miss Finney it’s time to confess that my eating has been wildly out of control all weekend. Last week was a write off as well, what with the late nights and the utter crippling exhaustion and everything. This weekend I ate out twice, had dessert both times, and lay face-down in a loaf of white bread (more or less.) Let’s put it this way – my lunch yesterday consisted of Triscuts and cheese, three caramel chocolate chip cookies, and a taco salad. Not exactly the food of a person who wants to lose 5 pounds by the end of the month.

I think the reason for this little foray back into my bad habits of yore actually had a good start. On Saturday A. and I went to Lane Bryant so she could buy some new pants before she has to start teaching on Wednesday. It seemed that LB had some really nice clothes for a change, and I tried on a brown corduroy jacket and tank top in a size 14/16. The 16 was far too big, but the 14/16 fit perfectly and I felt quite nice in it. It occurred to me that this is the smallest size they carry in LB, so that when I’m down another size I will be unable to shop at Lane Bryant anymore. I stood in the dressing room admiring myself and it was like a chorus of angels had crowded in there with me. I can’t tell you what an exciting idea that is.

When I was a senior in high school my local mall got the first LB in the area. I remember very clearly that at the time I went to the doctor and weighed in as 216 pounds. Before school started that year my mother and I drove to the mall to buy clothes, and I remember being mortified and so sad to see that the only clothes that fit me were these voluminous patterned dresses in materials unknown to the natural world. This was before the days when LB was even remotely fashionable, and it was a humiliating and degrading and ten years later I am still not over it. (Clearly!)

So realizing that I was that close to leaving LB forever sent me into a spiral of smug cheer and I felt fabulous and skinny and wonderful, so I went into maintenance. And that’s nice and everything, but I should probably get to goal first.

Last night I made pasta for dinner (a Nigella Lawson recipe which called for a half a cup of heavy cream) and then waited an hour and a half and went for a run. The run itself was amazing – the humidity was down and it was a cool 70 degrees, and I was just zooming along – but I felt nauseated the whole time. From above the stomach I had an ache, and below the stomach I had a rumble. If you get my drift. Anyway, about halfway through the 3 mile run there’s a construction site with a line of portable toilets, so in the dead of night I stopped running and went into one. All I had was the small flashlight that Adele carries with her, so I took that with me. So I did that sort of squat thing and then got to looking around only to see (too late!) that there was no toilet paper. I looked speculatively at my socks. Still trying not to touch anything, I took off my left shoe, then lost my balance and promptly toppled into the wall and dropped my show DOWN THE TOILET. I finally limped out of the port-a-potty, shoe and sockless and feeling squeamish. Adele looked down at my foot and without a word took off her left sock and handed it to me.

Now that’s sisterly love.