I can eat 2 meals a day and am filled. If I eat more butter, bread, fries, cake, I automatically bloat. The poundage just plasters itself and seals any means of shrinkage to a throbbing fat cell, with gluttonous satiation.
In my mind I know the extra fifty pounds I carry is just a continuous rivalry between my Monroesque proportions and the big girl hiding in comfort flab.
Big girl Phoebe is chronically selfish and a ruthlessly jealous of her alter persona Marilynesque. So I cater to both.
Today, with hunger for the second meal of the day around 6p, the Popeyes wing and breast, with red beans and rice was clearly an invitation to warfare.
With a triple glasses of cold and refreshing juice "extract" mango pineapple orange beverage, my body automatically started into a hastened lethargic sleep needy comatose stupor.
The effects of the beans and rice were highly toxic and combustible.
And under Mimzy's, - introducing my Granma pseudonym - watch is my ever ready battery adrenalin fueled 5 yr old Rayl.
Slipping quickly into a food induced catatonic lazy, I pleaded with Rayl to delight in her Disney channel amusements and hoped her Daddy would soon be home to the rescue.
I declined her requests to have video dance presentations where she would delight me with her choreography and I would be jest fully videoing her frenzied moves.
By Daddy's arrival I was sailing on my magic carpet ride.
Five hours after and the effects of beans and rice are wearing off. Phoebe is languishing in her foray with the food that makes her palette salivate. The same delights that would send her digestive system into septic shock.
Monroesque infatuations of fitting that size 14 dress and wishing it looked like a 12 are in the immediate forecast.
Phoebe, Marilyn, Mimzy, these wanton pleasures would paralyze any youthful momentum lurking within the 57 year body you work so hard to cherish and maintain
My body has spoken... Pay attention. Beans and rice, fried chicken and juice cocktails are in the exit zone.
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