“Shit!” I squawked, nearly spitting my coffee out. “Are you trying to kill me?”
“Did you burn your lips?” Tracey asked, beaming the sweet smile of the witch with a gingerbread house.
The problem was not that it was hot.
“How many sugars did you put in this?” I asked suspiciously.
We are fat. Too fat. Dead sexy – we’ve both readily agreed on that – but carrying more than strictly necessary in terms of love handles. Probably most worrying for me is if I put on any more weight I’m going to need a sports bra for work.
So we’re dieting. Kinda. Sorta
You see, a friend of ours has lost a wonderful amount of weight by simply keeping track of what goes in his mouth, and we figure we can do that.
As such, today is the first day I’ve joined Tracey in recording our daily intake with an App on our phones in an attempt to lose weight by monitoring what we eat.
And it has REALLY pissed her off.
“What do you mean you can eat nearly twice as much as me?!” she cooed loudly.
To give you an idea, after breakfast and lunch I had the same amount of points left for dinner as she started the day with.
“I guess because I’m taller and fatter,” I said.
“Are you kidding me? You’re fatter,” (and taller, but don’t worry about my feelings, darling), “so you’re rewarded with more food?”
Now the thing with me and Tracey is we are absolutely, all the time, 100% supportive of each other….except if we’re in competition.
Which is why I was chuckling so much today when I watched her eat three ‘healthy’ oranges and then punch them into her phone only to find they were 10% of her daily allowance.
“I should have just eaten something I really wanted,” she mumbled.
Meanwhile, I’ve had six stubbies this evening and I haven’t reached my total. YES!
Mind you, because I’m super supportive, I’ve spent the day making her favourite snacks and, because she is too, she’s been encouraging me to drink more beer. After her attempt to poison me with a super sweet coffee I made a double batch of Tracey’s favourite soup for her dinner. Serves 8. All gone and the kids had spaghetti bog for dinner.
I’m not certain this is going to go as planned. Over the course of this ‘diet’ we might actually put weight on – which is fine, so long as she puts on more so I can still claim the win.
In any case, I’ve played around with the App we’re using and it turns out the less I weigh the less I’m allowed to eat on any given day.
Worst. Reward system. Ever!
Why would I want that?
I haven’t told Tracey, but now I’m just hoping to plateau.
I think she should too. After all, why get all pent up messing with perfection?
As for me, so long as I don’t need to go in for a bra fitting, I’m good.
“Raising a family on little more than laughs.”