I just started on the HCG diet again.

I like to disaffectedly refer to it as the Help Control the Gut diet.

I won’t bother describing it. It works, removing fat from all of the right places during an insanely short amount of time.

It sounds awesome, if you don’t mind being perpetually exhausted and on the verge of passing out.

There are a plethora of subversive ways my life plots to derail the diet.

I go to my mother-in-law’s house and the evening begins with beer, nachos and queso. My father-in-law doesn’t even ask, just hands me a beer. I mean, when do I EVER say no to a beer?

Cuban weekends revolve around Corona.

My daughter asks me to blow on her nacho cheese which means I will inevitably have to touch it with my tongue or lips to be sure it’s not too hot. Biggest tease ever.

Thankfully no one notices I am steadily chugging water. I had no idea you could grow to HATE water.

The endless course meal moves on to toasted bread with olive spread. My mother-in-law asks me if I like sun dried tomatoes. I say yes, but I won’t be having any because because I am back on the dreaded diet. (She is aware of how said wretched diet works)

She says, “NO, no, no. I cooked all of this food. You are going to eat. No, no. You have to eat.”

I never know how to respond to statements like that. “Uh, no?” Awkward, awkward, awkward.

Then I get to watch as everyone eats rice and chicken along with assorted goodies, the kids sneaking Hershey’s Kisses and cookies.

Yesterday, I meet my husband and the kids at our favorite waterfront dive for lunch and he immediately slides a beer over and says, “This is yours.”

So sweet, yet so evil.

I had to push it back and instead choke down a drink with Club Soda that tastes like lighter fluid and is actually a “cheat” on the diet.

My daughter is great at sharing. I am so proud and so sick of her trying to force-feed me gold fish, fish sticks and mac n’ cheese.

Now, the world begins to conspire against me. We turn the clocks ahead an hour. My son is up late coughing and crying because he’s sick. My daughter wakes up from a nightmare at midnight demanding milk.

I drive to work, eyes half closed drinking black coffee. (which is allowed, but no other food until noon)

This means I am still falling asleep at work AND the coffee is shredding my stomach.

At lunchtime I have to walk past the vending machines to get to my pathetic portion of meat and veggies in the fridge. I NEVER notice the vending machines until I am on this diet. Now, I would stab a bitch for a corn chip.

Salivating now.

Newsrooms are notorious for cakes, cookies, cupcakes, chocolate and everything bad. People just plunk it down on a desk for anyone to take, free of charge. Today, no naughty free crap trying to lure me away from the diet. But, someone has already offered me a Watchamacallit.

So, I sit here lips burning and fingers sticky from peeling an orange. I hate peeling oranges more than most people hate cleaning the toilet.

This NEVER happens, ok? Never.

I have already started dreaming about carbs. I literally dreamed I was eating Tofu Woon Sen. It’s just vegetables, tofu and clear noodles… a meal most would consider “healthy.”

I could write an epic poem about Tofu Woon Sen.

For me, it’s one more pair of pants I have to abandon forever to the widening abyss of items to donate to Goodwill that is my closet. It’s a living, breathing, gaping chasm, hungry for more.

But, not as hungry as I am right now.

I’ve never done crack or heroin, but carbs can’t be that far behind. I would eat uncooked grains of rice or raw pasta. I would snort bread crumbs.

Keep me away from all sharp objects.

Posted by ScreamerDreamer in Children diet, Cuban cooking, Cuban-American, Family, Family humor, Family life, Funny family, Mother-in-Law, Working mom Tags: carbs, diet, hcg