Love handles

Did you ever notice those “before” and “after” pictures in the diet ads? What would people do if the images were reversed, eh? What if plump was pretty and thin was out of fashion?

It’s really in the genes. I was traveling in Poland, land of my ancestry, last year and couldn’t help but notice that the natives tended to resemble quite a few of my family members when it came to hips and bosoms. Hardy Polish peasant stock. The euphemism seemed to fit.

The Poles love their meat and potatoes … and cabbage and pierogies. It may have been that trip to Poland that started some serious weight gain. I’m still paying for the vacation starch. Yep, the pants and tops have either shrunk or I’ve gotten bigger. I’m afraid it’s the latter. My moment of truth came two weeks ago. I kept telling myself it was my imagination. Finally, I was brave enough to get on the bathroom scale (which had dust on it from disuse). I managed to regain the eight pounds I lost on South Beach a while back. Nuts!

I decided to switch beaches and surf elsewhere (the Web). Ended up having a box of pre-planned diet food delivered to my door. I work fulltime and often have crazy schedules. I don’t have a personal trainer or chef or nutritionist waiting for me with a well-balanced meal and candles on the dining-room table when I get home. Sometimes, living alone is the pits. Feed me please!

Then I had to spend a half day cleaning out my pantry to unpack the huge amounts of incoming food and organize my breakfast, lunch, dinner and dessert. It’s good that I finally mustered up the energy to do this because I kept tripping over the damn box of diet food on my way to raid the refrigerator.

It’s a start. I’ve been drinking my water and nuking or stirring my meals for the past week. My tummy looks bigger – maybe it’s water retention. I plan to get on the dreaded scale only once a week. My next moment of truth is Monday. I will remind myself to laugh if the scale shows that by some fluke of fate I’ve managed to gain rather than lose. And then I shall calmly throw the scale down the steps of my apartment.

I want to lose a modest amount of weight; some people have a more ambitious agenda. I don’t expect miracles – I’m a realist. There’s the age and metabolism factor. And that pesky reminder to exercise is not too inviting. I’m an only child who grew up as a non-jock. I was not allowed to sweat and was the odd kid on the block who roller skated on one skate. You could say my parents were a bit over-protective. Thank God I learned to ride a bike. My idea of exercise is unloading the box of diet food; I swear I lost a couple pounds right there.

I am a little concerned about all the drop-dead gorgeous pictures of men and women in their “after” state, losing 140 pounds or 95 pounds or 200 pounds. Heck, if I lose that kind of weight, I’ll disappear. More power to them, the real heroes of the battle of the bulge. But why do all the pictures show an asterisk and note that say “not typical results”? If not, then what?

There was a time, centuries ago, when a woman’s body was appealing with all its fleshy curves and girth. I think I belong to that forgotten era.