Size matters, darling
Finding answers at the bottom of a tub of ice-cream.india Updated: Apr 23, 2006 01:15 IST
Yesterday, I officially fell off the wagon. Okay, I have cheated on the diet once in a while (the pepperoni pizza with jalapeno pepper and red pepper toppings that comprised my comfort food two Wednesdays ago springs spectacularly to mind). But I have more or less been good and pure and eaten my two chappatis with some green, allegedly edible thing day after day, week after week, and not a lick of butter in sight.
But yesterday, pottering around Hill Road after an interview, I found myself – it’s amazing how my feet just lead me astray – first fighting for a place at the counter at Hearsch where I rediscovered the joy of meat, bread and condiments in the form of a burger, and next outside Natural’s ice cream parlour where I came to the conclusion that real happiness lies in a tub of fresh mango ice cream.
A large tub.
Oh all right, why go into denial, a very large tub.
And as I sat there licking my spoon and making appreciative noises that would have our esteemed deputy CM immediately plot a ban on ice cream on the grounds that it encourages immorality, I thought about my diet.
Actually, I use the word ‘thought’ somewhat grandiosely. My thought process, such as it was, was something on the lines of: “Mmm. Mmm. Mmmmm. Ohgawdohgawdohgawdohgawd. YesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesYES. %$%#@&% the diet, if happiness leads to hipponess, I shall just buy a ticket to Africa and spend the rest of my life in a mud bank.”
Oddly, there are some things I will miss about my diet. For instance, I will miss the space between my chin and neck that, if I actually do build a zhopadpatti outside Natural’s as I had decided last night (the lychee ice cream will be available from mid-May), will shortly be encroached upon by some too, too solid flesh. I will miss talking airily about “my nutritionist” as though I were a Lady Who Lunches. I will miss wearing that tiny top I bought (constructed, apparently, from half a ladies’ hanky) in anticipation of total thinness. But I don’t care. There are priorities in life and mine, at this moment, is ice cream.
And while I know I’m bound to get depressed at times as I grow larger and larger, I have, fortunately, some far more useful things to console myself with than that old platitude that women have to keep handing out to men – “Of course size doesn’t matter, darling.”
For instance, whenever I feel fat, I can log on to ivillage.co. uk/beauty and have a virtual makeover – hair, makeup, the works. All I have to do is upload a photo of myself (preferably from 10 years ago) and then click and drag hairstyles and colours on to my mug. makeoversolutions.com offers much the same service, though this is a paid site (a demo is all you get for free). And I rather like the instant makeover application at www.beautyriot.com which offers to help you get that celebrity look and which, hallelujah, is wholly free.
And if these sites don’t cheer me up, I can always vent my angst on famous thin people by clicking on their faces and squishing them beyond recognition at ukhairdressers.com/ revenge. Which, since I have just stuffed my face with batter-fried mussels, I am just about to do.