Let the Poor Man Have His Big Mac!

“Oh my God!  Can you talk?” A frantic text popped up on my phone from my friend Julie.  “I really need your help - I’m about to kill Frank!” I was pretty certain that murder was not on her to-do list for the day, but I thought a quick response was in order.

“What’s wrong? Your text was pretty frantic” I said when we connected a few minutes later.

Julie immediately exploded. “Frank started another diet last week and he’d driving me crazy.  He’s so cranky; I can’t stand it anymore!” Suppressing a laugh, I braced myself and asked “What diet is he on?” 

“What diet?” she asked. “Pick one!” For the next twenty minutes Julie regaled me with diet plans, calorie and carb counts and the menu restrictions she was working under. “I’m trying my best” she said in desperation. “No matter what I make for dinner, something isn’t right. He keeps changing his mind about which diet he want to be on. Yesterday it was low carb.  Today it’s no carbs. Last week it was intermittent fasting. The week before that it was liquid protein shakes. And, every time he gets on the scale, if he hasn’t lost at least a pound, he gets really upset and I have to bear the brunt. I swear, I’m at my wit’s end.” 

In an effort to make her feel better, I told her how Roger was going through something similar. He recently decided to do the Atkins diet again. It worked for him 30 years ago and he’s hoping to get back down to our pre-wedding weight. 

“You know, we’ve tried many diets through the years too” I relayed. “We’ve done Atkins, Weight Watchers, Keto and plain, old calorie counting. Roger’s favorite, though, was the “Little Debbie’s Diet.” 

“Oh my gosh, what the heck is that one. I’ve never heard of it but it sounds like something Fred would love.”

“The Little Debbie’s Diet is a actually a name that Roger came up with. A few years back he found this diet book that claimed if you ate nothing but vegetables and drank water all day, you could then eat whatever you wanted for one hour each evening and you would lose weight.” 

Anything you wanted.  For Roger, that meant something - anything -  loaded with sugar.  I would make a lovely dinner and then he would eat as many Little Debbie cakes as he could for dessert. As long as he stopped eating after an hour, the diet was supposed to work.

“We had boxes and boxes of every variety that Little Debbie’s made. We spent a small fortune on sweet treats and Roger was in his glory.  It took him a few weeks to figure out that he wasn’t losing any weight, but but boy was he happy for a short while.  In the end, I had to hide the extra boxes in every free closet and pantry space I could find so he wouldn’t be tempted any further. I was still finding them a year later.”

Julie laughed out loud. I had succeeded in talking her off the ledge and felt certain Fred would live to see another day. 

A few days later, the call I received from my friend was not quite as frantic. “How’s the diet going?” I asked.  “Better,” she replied.  Fred has decided that the best way to lose weight is not to concentrate so much on what he’s eating, but to go to the gym twice a day, seven days a week.  He’s working with a trainer and claims he can bench press 300 pounds already.  His car smells of french fries and there are Big Mac wrappers on the front seat. But he seems happier and isn’t yelling anymore, so that’s a good thing.” 

The moral of this story: Diets are hard.  Once in awhile, let the poor man have his Big Mac!

© 2024  Annie Sokoloff