Less of Me to Love

If you visit this space at all, you may be aware that I started a diet seven weeks ago. I know this is a tedious subject, but I felt you were due an update.

There are several tell tale signs that one needs to go on a diet: clothes start to feel tight, there is scary evidence of a double chin and there's the manner in which skinny women give you the smarmy once-over. For me, the key indicator that dieting might be prudent is that strange and ominous sensation that I am being followed. And then I realize it's only my ass.

So I took up the mantle and almost two months in, I'm down 20 pounds. My clothes are loose. Body bits are starting to tighten up. And the people I work with everyday are complimenting me. Like a drug, I want more.

Curiously, the people that I only see periodically haven't noticed there's less of me, which reinforces the perception that I have a long way yet to go.

A friend recently asked me why this was important to me. The correct thing to say would be that I am concerned about my health and it's important to be fit. Yeah, yeah. Truth be told, the real reason is this--I want to look better in my clothes and fit into chic fall and winter fashion. I admit it. I am shallow but at least I acknowledge it. My friend looked a bit horrified at my admission.

I am missing many loving food friends: bacon and cheese and fried chicken and pork. Oh, and butter and margaritas. But in the long run, I need to remain steadfast. The sacrifice is worth it.

My end goal is simple. I want to wear a blue Calvin Klein bikini that I last wore in 2003. I'm hoping maybe next summer.