I love cake but it doesn't seem to like me. It appears to want to make me fat. How frightfully RUDE. The same phenomenon applies to my other weakness: chocolate. It really is quite unfair that this love affair is unrequited. Sniff.
It has also become a clandestine affair. Forbidden fruit and all that. Over a year ago the
Instead, I embarked on the I Don't Really Want To Quit Sugar So I'll Pretend That Didn't Happen Programme. This involves inserting ones head in ones posterior. Then compromising your health by continuing in much the same vein, but with an extra dollop of guilt. As if the guilt I already had wasn't quite enough, thanks very much. Yes, I'm very mature.
After all, the days of being able to take the 'Mars a day' advertising slogan quite literally(which I did as a teen), were well and truly behind me decades ago.
Feeling foolish, and thinking I needed a massive kick up my afore- mentioned rather large posterior, I signed up for the Get Healthy Programme. You know the one. They advertise it on the telly in between all the ads for Maccas and Magnums. You have a telephone coach call every week to guide you on a path to healthy eating.
Apparently, I seem to have confused it with the Get Unhealthy Programme. I have made some improvements. I'm cooking a lot more healthy meals for the family. But my sugar addiction remains intact. Sigh.
I appear to be one of those folk whose only arsenal against avoiding temptation (especially of the cake shaped variety) is simply never having the temptation in front of me. Ever.
All I need to do is avoid all shops and restaurants and social occasions FOREVER. Meanwhile, I can live on the rations that Micky Blue Eyes pokes through the bars of the cage I'll have to stay in. I'll be so feral without my sugar fix I won't be fit for any human contact. Done.
The other day I had a conversation with my Mum that went something like this:
"Have you been back for your blood test again?"
"Um, no..." I replied.
"You better make sure you do it!" she admonished me. It was just like I the time when I was three years old and scribbled all over the living room walls. I was a very naughty girl.
"Okay." I agreed meekly, already feeling faint. I hate the thought of blood, let alone the sight of it.
The same day, I arrived home to find a reminder from my GP complete with a pathology slip. I think the universe is trying to tell me something. Well, my Mum and my GP are, anyway.
This shit is getting real. I really am a middle aged woman. Who knew? It may actually be well past the time to relinquish my crown and officially step down as the Cakie Queen. Sigh. Double Sigh. Triple Sigh. Hysterical sobbing even.
I know. I'm frightfully immature. I can't accept eating cakies and sugar in moderation. Meanwhile, there are children dealing with the reality of living with Diabetes every day. I know I'm being ridonkulous. I also know ridonkulous is not word. But I DON'T CARE. So ner!
Anyway, I'm going to go and have my blood test this week and accept the reality of whatever I'm told.
On the plus side, I bought a set of scales the other day. I tested the display model and it told me I've lost about 1.5 kilos!! Okay, that's not much. But I'll take anything, considering the amount of cake I shovel in. Ahem.
And I promise I won't bore you with anymore posts about my weight or
Linking up for I Must Confess.
What is your favourite sweet treat?
Have you ever been successful in giving it up?
Is the I Quit Sugar programme really as awful as it sounds?