A cautionary tale for would-be losers

What was I thinking and who was I kidding?
Is it my imagination or did the world I live in just explode into one big surveillance camera?
I had no clue how many people knew this “mug” belonged to the dupe who published her body weight and diet intentions in a newspaper.
For anyone else out there trying to lose weight, here’s some sage advice. For goodness sake, save yourself. Do not publicly declare the space you take up in pounds.
If you must own your commitment, do it quietly. If you feel the urge to share it with somebody, tell the dog!
“I’m still learning after all these years,” my column from last week’s Times, wasn’t exactly the 15 minutes of fame I was looking for.
My first hunch that perhaps my “going public” would come back to bite me was last Thursday morning when Times sports writer Emmanuel Moutsatsos walked by my desk and gestured a “most muscular pose” at me, followed quickly by the gesture, “I’ll be watching you.”
“Oh, oh,” said the little voice inside of me.
On the weekend, while in the local grocery store to fill my cart with celery and lettuce, I picked up a loaf of rye bread just to smell what I was missing.
Someone I hardly knew breezed by with a bag of doughnuts and blurted out to me, “That’s not allowed,” chuckling to themselves in the straight-away to the potato chip isle.
“I’m innocent!” I argued.
A little later, I had my hand in the bulk cookie jar fishing out a couple of peanut butter ones to buy for my kids when I caught the grimace of a familiar face.
“They’re not for me!” I declared.
I spent the rest of my shopping hour standing in the vegetable department nodding to passers-by while my kids spread out around the store fetching the grub.
Two days ago, I was parked on Scott Street and looked down to see an empty fast food bag and candy wrapper on the floor of the passenger seat (I swear they weren’t mine).
I scrunched up the garbage and got out to throw it in the trash can on the sidewalk. As I chucked in the evidence, I froze. Out of nowhere struck a pang of guilt at being seen with even the scraps of such taboo fare!
Paranoia was setting in.
My last trip to the coffee shop only added to my growing anxiety! All I wanted to get away with was the one vice I can have these days—black coffee. Uh, uh.
On my way to sit down, I was asked three times by three different people, who didn’t even work there, if I’d like a muffin or a doughnut.
Enough already!
And in the last seven days, I’ve probably heard the phrase “You’re very brave” (to admit your weight) enough times to nearly convince me that walking barefoot over a bed of hot coals might have been less revealing.
Then Valentine’s Day came along and for the first time in years, I had to say “No” to the love chocolates from Pete. Was I out of my mind?
Even the kids couldn’t resist testing their mother’s breaking point that day. On the way home from work, they were in the back seat eating Hershey’s Kisses (compliments of their dad).
The aroma of chocolate was almost too much for a mortal woman.
“Ooh, this is so good—too bad for you, Mom, you can’t have any,” one of them said.
I scowled. A Marge Simpson-like growl leapt out.
Now I know why some animals eat their young.

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