Die-yet

So ever since the cruel gym has lured me into it’s snare trap, I’ve been given a diet. Now to be fair on the dietician (who’s quite sweet, although hairy and fat. I mean, you wouldn’t expect a dietician to be fat, right? So much for motivation! And I should probably end the narrative in the bracket now, because so far, it’s longer than the actual post. Here goes.) the diet’s pretty alright. Normal breakfast, lunch and dinner routines, minus too many carbohydrates and lots and lots of fruits.

Now when I first got the diet, I was very happy, since it allowed me to eat chicken and fish (in proportionate quantities, hmph), and was pretty much the veggies, etc I normally eat at home. What could be better? So I had to give up on mutton, lamb and pork. Pah! Who needs those anyway? I’m all set to be a fitter, healthier person. I’m above all the worldly temptations like meat and food.

And chocolates.

And cakes.

And Tang.

And butter chicken. *gulp*

And mutton kheema from Koolar. *wipes eyes*

And masala papads.

And veg hakka noodles with chicken cooked in red meat. *help!*

And chewing gum.

And Parle G biscuits.

And beef (cooked by Chris’ mum).

And butter nan, lachha paratha, butter rotis.

And milk with sugar.

And coconut chutney.

And a gazillion other things that I took for granted in my entire lifetime. So if you have any sense, stay fat, let those love handles poke out of your t-shirt, your butt crack ooze out of your jeans and eat all you want. At most you’ll die 30 years earlier, but who wants to live those extra years moping about the food you could have eaten? Plus, there are a lot of stores that sell clothes ranging from size XXXL to XXXXXL and other Roman numbers.

And yeah, kindly don’t let my mum read this post. I bet she won’t see the wisdom nor the humour behind it.

*checks watch and rushes because she’s late for gym*