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Diesel is a Saboteur, or the Return of the Diet

I have a nagging suspicion that Diesel is trying to sabotage me. Call me crazy, but I can’t help but think that he has been covertly working against my diet. Yes, that diet. My inkling that he was NOT the guardian of my diet, but instead, a saboteur disguised as my husband, started in Hiroshima. Because we are constantly traveling, our diets have definitely not been the healthiest, which is understandable when you can’t cook and are always eating on the street. But Japan is known for its healthy and delicious food, so I was hoping to get slim while eating well. In one of our important daily discussions of where to eat, Diesel insisted on going to Micky D’s. As you all know, I am obsessed with McDonald’s, but Japanese food is just about one of the only things that can beat this kind of greasy craving. And yet, I was constantly being tempted by Diesel, who decided we should definitely go to Micky D’s. The first night I was good, decisive. I declined. But the second night I caved in. And as I found myself standing in line to make my order, Diesel asked: “Are you not supersizing it?” WTF? What kind of question was that? That question was analogous to Diesel telling me to go out naked in the rain but not forget to put my beanie on so I don’t get sick. What kind of self-respecting husband willingly sends his own wife on a downward spiral of unrestrained gluttony? And as if it that wasn’t enough, there was the chocolate-covered Belgian waffle. Every time we walked through the main shopping area, Diesel would cheerily turn to me: “You want a waffle?” “You should buy a waffle!,” “This waffle looks good!” “You should get one for a snack!” “You should get one for dessert!” I mean, what part of DIET did he not understand? You gotta admit, the little guy was up to something. It was when we went back to the States that my suspicions were finally confirmed. On the first day we were in AZ, Diesel practically shoved me into his parents’ bathroom and ordered me to weigh myself. As I stepped on the scale for the first time in several months, I saw his big head right behind me, his eyes full of anticipation. And there it was, definite and undeniable: the gauge showed that I was over 10 lbs. heavier. And then, Diesel started dancing and laughing in what can only be described as joyous celebration. He was actually happy that I was fatter than him. He was actually happy that I was approaching my divorce weight *. I was shocked. How could a husband be like that? How can a husband so mercilessly mock his own wife? But I will show him and HE will be called a muffin top, or better yet, a Telletuby, whose belly is even bigger than a muffin top. And thus, the diet commences… * Before we got married we both picked a target weight, which, if ever surpassed, can be used by the other party as grounds for the dissolution of our marriage

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