So How’s The Diet Going? A Series On Losing Weight. Part Four

Aaaaaand it’s another MILF facing the impossible choice. No need to look so fucking glum about it, madam. That salad looks rather good and the pizza looks a little soggy. I say GO SALAD!

Well, look who’s here. It’s you!

It’s yet another chapter in the diary of diet. Here is chapter one, chapter two, and chapter three. If you have arrived here without reading all the other chapters, I’ll just wait here until you’re caught up.


OK, all done? Good. I especially liked the bit in chapter two where the haunted doll attacked everyone, didn’t you?

So anyway, I am dieting. Are you? I hope so. Now we can diet together, won’t that be fun??

So far, it’s going OK, but dieting is not easy. There is temptation everywhere. There is also an industry based around convincing you to lose weight, but sometimes you suspect they are not completely there for your benefit.

Anyway, here we are at Week Four. It’s getting tough.

Why, that name alone is inspirational! I’ve been inspired to not fucking touch it, whatever it is.


The diet is beginning to bite. At least, that’s what the gnawing sensation in my stomach feels like.

There is a myth that only women diet. All of the diet industry’s magazines on the subject are very much aimed at women, and the imagery is all about shaming women into losing weight by using images of women who are incredibly thin and elegant. If I were a mum, I’d be the kind of mum who feels assaulted on all sides by personal feelings of guilt and inadequacy, of paranoia at the school gates, of feeling judged by all the other mums, and feeling bad about wanting a career and wanting to be there for my child. On top of that, I’d feel crap every time I turned on the TV and saw a billion thin women smiling at me with their stupid, perfect, smug faces. Yeah, I’d be that kind of mum. Thank God Sarah is not like that, at least not outwardly. I know she has to put up with all that though, and she does it with remarkable grace, and only occasionally gritting her teeth.

It’s not just women who diet. Men diet too. But the imagery is different. A lot of diet imagery for men is either showing toned six-packers (an unrealistic goal for me, aged 40, with a lifetime’s habit of snacking late at night) which I suppose is the male equivalent of a bikini model, or the pictures are of middle-aged men who have shed loads of pounds.

In these images, these men who diet are usually podgy blokes in plain shirts who went bald in their twenties, who have gone to seed, never worked out, and are now approaching impotent middle age with just type-2 diabetes and heart problems to look forward to. When they lose weight, they are pictured much thinner, sometimes with arms raised in triumph, but always looking much happier with themselves. Good on you, chap! Well done! There’s always a happy-ever-after vibe in these stories. And maybe they stay that way… but I don’t often see a follow-up. Maybe it’s because happy-ever-after is really a myth, and that dietees really do put the weight back on. Depressing thought.

Now all you need to do is reverse that early male-pattern baldness and you will be fighting totty off with a shitty stick!

I have it on very good authority that women don’t feel sexy when they’re overweight. Well, neither do men, I can assure you. It’s awkward to look at oneself in the mirror and be objective about your appearance. It doesn’t feel sexy to take off your shirt in from of your wife and have your belly spring forward, free from its prison, and then plunge downward like the world’s biggest monoboob.

(It doesn’t stop sex, of course, because sex is awesome! And yes, blah-blah-good-exercise-blah-blah. But men do sometimes look at their figure in the mirror and inwardly sigh. I mean, I’ve not checked in regularly with other men, but I’m pretty sure that’s the case).

Anyway, you’re in Week Four now. The diet now is a war between contrasting angels and demons, battling for your chubby soul. The following is a typical internal argument between the bit of you that is tempted, and the bit of you that wishes to stick to the diet.

1. It’s 9pm, I fancy a late-night snack.

2. NO! Stop that thinking.

3. It’s a groggy morning, I fancy one spoon of sugar in my coffee.


5. Just a splash of milk?

6. NO!!

7. Come on, would it hurt to have 45g of cereal rather than the concentration-camp ration of 30g? Just one more sodding raisin will not kill me!

8. NOOOOOOOO! That way fatness lies!! Do you want to go back? DO YOU?

9. You are a fascist, inner guilt-monologue. Do you know that? You’re like the fucking Shame Nun from Game of Thrones, season 5.

Say the word ‘biscuit’ again. Just even think it. I dare you, I double dare you, motherfucker…

Trouble is, tempted you is often a bully to sensible you. So you think about your image and how you feel about yourself. You look at yourself in the mirror. A slightly gaunt, grey, pissed-off version of you stares back. But you are  looking thinner. No doubt. this is… good? Yeah, you look better. Wow, this feeling good about the way you look sure is an unfamiliar sensation. But by gum, those cravings are getting bad, and naughty food is hella tempting.

Out of sheer curiosity and not desperation, you think very hard about trying a weight loss pill. Then, as if by magical coincidence, there is a news report on that particular pill, and the report states that one of the side effects is anal seepage.

Anal. Seepage.

Seepage from your bumhole.

That doesn’t even bear thinking about.

WHY IS EVERYTHING SOOOO HAAAAAARD?? Things are so hard, you are actually considering taking a pill that will cause my anus to weep oily liquid.

4lbs. YASSSSSSSS!!! Thank you, Shame Nun!! No need for pills means reduced risk of bumleak

Sounds great! Sign me up!

6 thoughts on “So How’s The Diet Going? A Series On Losing Weight. Part Four

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