So, here’s the thing. We just got back from the holidays (pic above) , the floor is full of dirty clothes and beach towels queueing up for a wash like tourists queue up outside a beach restroom. It’s a long line that slowly and surely my love is going to take care of cause I’m sitting here writing to you. Thank you for helping me pretend to be working and therefore avoiding any kind of chore that comes with the Return. Let’s count our losses this week:
My nutritionist gave me a list to follow that was supposed to include naughty food as the goal was not so much to lose but to not gain. Before she left last time, she made me swear not to go on the scales before Monday and this is the only order of hers I followed. To be fair, I did try but seriously, I was on the Mediterranean food paradise. Who in their right mind stays off food and alcohol? You understand that Monday is gonna be a difficult day but because I knew that, I’m having coffee with my trainer. I thought having coffee with her is a bit like exercising cause I get to see her for an hour, no food involved and we’re probably gonna sweat a lot cause it’s 95 degrees outside. I know, right? Smart.
First few days, you look at yourself, admiring that newly acquired skin tone that hides your cellulite, your age, your black circles, goes well with all your bright clothes and generally is the best thing that happens after you endure the sun for days, emptying endless bottles of sunscreen on your poor body while sucking in your stomach because you can’t wear a one-piece if you also want to look tanned in underwear. You see there’s a lot at stake here. The problem is you have to maintain it somehow, only now you have to suck it up and go to your horrible city beach, or the balcony in which case you have to put up with your neighbour who hoses his balcony up and down and doesn’t let you enjoy your free floating stomach for a change.
After a week at an adults-only resort, on a serene, breezy seashore, you come back to the city. Nights are hot again, the air is stuffy and the slightest noise now louder than ever. First few days, you reminisce and talk to your partner (in crime) in riddles only you two understand. After a short while, life goes back to what it was, as if you never left, like you don’t remember that life could be this amazing experience where food has a taste, where bras don’t exist, where you can cuddle in bed till midday, where other people prepare your eggs and wash your dishes, where walking barefoot everywhere doesn’t make you part of a cult.
Remember I told you about the books last time? Well, of course, I bought a book and I brought a book. The book I brought was never opened and for some reason is here next to me right now, staring, shaking its head in disappointment. The book I bought, I read half cause that’s the time I had. So my updated advice is make sure the book you choose to read on holiday is around 200-300 pages long. Any longer and it kills your self-esteem. Also, buy one instead of packing one. You haven’t read it at home, you’re never gonna read it.
I have to love you and leave you now, I know you want to read more but I’m hungry, I have to pretend I care about what we eat for lunch, maybe throw a little comment along the lines of “wanna make you some pasta?” which always works wonders when our fridge is empty cause he never wants pasta for some reason and so we end up eating out. It just dawned on me that I might actually make horrible pasta…oh well...