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KeKe's Weight Loss Story
My neighbor called to let me know our favorite store was having swimsuit sale. All I needed to hear was the word sale. I thought before I dashed over to pick her, I’d do an inventory of my swimsuits and see how I looked in them after a winter full of holiday food orgies that seemed to never end.
Why did I try on a bikini first? I looked at myself in the mirror, gasped and stumbled into a chair. I looked like an Amazon stuffed into baby swimwear. My tight swimsuit bottom was now a thong.
At that moment I realized the cupcakes, cookies and pies I so graciously welcomed into my house time and time again had become blubber ticks – attaching themselves to my stomach, legs and behind. I looked down in disbelief at the spare tire around my waist. This Good Year was the product of my diet’s bad year.
To make matters worse my neighbor comes over wearing a trench coat. I opened the door and she opened her coat revealing a tight toned body in a fluorescent pink bikini. I dug mine out of my behind and let her in.
She thought she was saving me from a razor blade and a hot tub of water by saying, “Aren’t you a brick house.” Yeah, twenty thousand square feet on four acres I thought. I really just wanted this skinny bi@#ch, who looked liked she needed to be hooked up to a mash potato IV, out of my house.
I punted on shopping. I needed to be with two of my closest friends, Ben and Jerry. However, they only made me feel worse. Although, I tried to deny it, they too were part of the blubber ticks. Frustrated, I did the unthinkable. I exhumed my workout DVDs from a shallow shoe box grave in my closet. I looked at them. They had held up well for having been buried for so long.
I put on one DVD that promised to turn me into a lean mean concrete muscle machine. Two minutes in -- a Charlie horse galloped into the room. Five minutes in -- I was breathing like Darth Vader and ten minutes in -- I thought I was going to drown in my own sweat. Lucky for me my phone rang and I crawled over to it.
It was my crazy cousin, Rhea. When she gets excited she stutters so I knew something had happened, but I might not find out what for another thirty minutes. Every syllable lasted at least two minutes. Finally, after what seemed like a day and a half she communicated that my Aunt Dot had gone up in her attic and fallen through the ceiling, landing in her kitchen.
My Aunt Dot is a five pound bag of sugar with arms and legs. She was in the hospital, but everything seemed to be okay. Her cat was missing and I prayed he wasn't the bulls eye on her kitchen floor.
As I approached Aunt Dot’s hospital room I could hear her chatting one of the nurses up in a voice that sounded like Ethel Merman. Her face lit up when she saw me. She wore her signature "harlot red lipstick" as she called it.
She was quick to tell me what happened and that she was feeling fine. Then things took a frightening turn when the nurse came back in the room and confirmed my eighty two year old Aunt had a raging yeast infection. To which my Aunt Dot asked, “Loaf of bread bad or donut bad?” I found myself dry heaving in the corner.
The next day I began my weight loss program. In three weeks I’d lost ten pounds and I have another ten to go.
My secret -- when I’m about to eat, I conjure up mental pictures of Aunt Dot’s loaves of bread and donuts. Suddenly, my appetite is gone.