At 8am the next morning I call Dr. G my internist. I speak with his assistant Shirley.
“Hi, Dorothy, It’s Pink Slip. It’s an emergency I must wee the doctor today.”
“What is it—H1N1?” she sounded concerned.
“No. I can’t tell you. It’s personal. But believe me, it’s important.” I pretend to cough.
“Listen Pink Slip. He’s really busy, but I”ll squeeze you in. Can you be here in one hour?
“Great. Thanks so much” I say in my best hoarse voice.
I squeeze on my jeans and run to the bus. I consider this to be my first day of excercise.
Within 45 minutes I arrive at Dr. G’s office.
“HI Ms. Pink Slip. How are you today?” Dorothy is a prim looking woman with large black glasses, who always appears dwarfed by the voluminous papers on her desk. “You can go into the examining room.”
Thanks.” I hang up my coat and cough.
Dr. G appears looking weary and harried. He’s a studious looking man in a white coat and bow tie with thinning silver hair and wire framed glasses.
“So?” He sits down across from me and crosses his legs. He pulls out a pad and is ready to take notes.
“Well, come to think of it, I could use some happy pills.”
“I can prescribe an allergy pill. What else?”
“I’m having bad dreams.”
“Just don’t go to sleep” he yawns. “Trying to get out of something? Jury duty?
“Actually, this is my problem. I’m fat. I’m just not getting picked up at the Harvard Club bar these days by loaded octogenarians.” I start to weep and he hands me a wrinkled tissue. Probably from his last flu victim.
“Tell me what you eat in a typical day. Like yesterday.”
“Well, I skipped breakfast. Had a fudgy cupcake for lunch. And, let’s see. A margarita, a corn chips, and a half of a beef burrito for dinner at Tia Mia.” ( An incomlete inventory. I know I ate the whole burrito. My shame would allow me to confess just so much.”
“Yeah, but on the burrito.” I smirk. I didn’t tell him about the chocolate chocolate chip ice cream I ate in secret—even hiding it from Solace bear.
“That cupcake thing is juvenile. That’s a child’s palette.” We both pause and think.
“Let me calculate your Body Mass Index.” He pulls out a Blackberry, flips open a manila folder, and makes some focused calculations. “Hmmm, there is indeed a problem. “
I start to wail like I just lost my best friend.
“This is my suggested food plan. Ok, (he looks like he’s delivering military secrets). For breakfast, one apple and a sliver of cheese.”
“What kind?” I feel concerned. That’s a change in diet for me. I’m used to donuts and cupcakes for breakfast.
“I’m flexible. Gouda and Jarlsberg are fine.”
“What about lunch. I’m beginning to feel hungry.”
He glares at me, “No lunch. That’s a strict rule.”
“Oh please. That can’t be so. I’ll starve.”
He grins. “You’ll burn body fat. I do it every day. Too busy to eat. I told the girls in the office to do it and they cried.”
My stomach starts to growl. “I’m already hungry. This won’t work.”
“You’ll get used to it.”
“Dinner? I ask weakly.
“You know how to chop salad?”
“No.” For me icing is a vegetable.
“You’ll learn. Every night you chop lettuce. You like blue cheese?
“Yeah. But with a porterhouse steak.”
“You put 2 ounces cheese in the salad. Throw in another apple. And that’s dinner. The weight will melt away.” he punches his stomach.
“Wow. And what about exercise? ” I’m getting more disheartened.
“I don’t believe in it. I’m too busy to go the gym.”
“Oh, and every once in a while, throw in a really low calorie dinner” he shakes his pen.
“Lower than lettuce?”
“That’s right. One cup Cheerios and milk. That’ll keep you on track. Anything else?
“That’s not enough food for an upper east side NYC poodle!” That’s what I’ll call it. “The Poodle Girl Diet.”