kellementology

Today, I discovered the diet fairies have graced me with a two week total of 6 lbs. lost on my weekly Tuesday Babification Weigh-In . Tah-Dahhhhhhhhhhh. Quite the different picture from last week, huh? Sonoma Diet, and South Beach Diet, and Atkins, and Jenny Craig, and even Weight Watchers — Move Over. The PhoodPlan Works! And it works because I am not on a “diet.” No drugs, no shots, no personal trainer, and my 24 Hour Fitness membership is soooo cancelled.

Do the math — 6 lbs. in two weeks will be about 20 lbs. by the first week of June and I will be on-my-babe-a-licious way. Well, at least in my mind, which is the only thing that really matters here. I mean, be serious. My sweats will be bigger than they already are. My yoga pants will hang on me. My stretchy jeans will no longer have to stretch across my derriere. I will no longer have an excuse to wear BIG cotton Undies.

I know. Those of you with protruding hip bones, concave cheeks, and elbows that we can actually see the mechanical workings of are thinking, “What’s the big deal? Six pounds? Why bother?” And you’d really like us to think you eat, but we — the Reubenesque women of the realm — really know what’s going on. You just don’t eat.

It has got to be painful not eating, not liking eating, not wanting to eat, or having to remember to eat, as in, “Tee-Hee. I so like forgot to eat today.” Well, maybe not as painful as the purplish mark around my midsection from too-tight trousers worn for 12 hours. Or by a bra that is so tight that when I unhook it at night it flies across my closet. Not that painful. But still.

I just love to eat. Not fast food. Not food that comes in a box, or a package that you can pop in the microwave. And, definitely absolutely none of that packaged diet food. I honestly don’t know how people eat that crap. In fact, crap would probably taste better. I love well-prepared fresh food most of the time. All of it. And being this true blue foodie that I am, I’m drawn to pithy tomes such as French Women Don’t Get Fat because I haven’t figured out how, if I enjoy fresh food and French cooking, I’m fat. Duh. I’m not eating leek soup it seems.

The book is cute, but seriously, have you tasted that “Magical Leek Soup” she says she eats? I swear if you blindfolded me and asked me to drink some I’d believe you’d given me urine. It’s beyond gag me. And I can’t see what her real “secret of eating for pleasure” really is other than being the president and CEO of Clicquot Inc. who makes my favorite champagne with the orange label. Can I get in line for that gig? To be fair, the book is good at making the point of being thinner from a “non-diet” or way of life. I’m so there.

A good example of being there is to take a look at this. Outside of it being an amazing website that I am completely jealous of, she gives a nod to Jacques Pepin in this section. I guess French chefs don’t get fat either. Or French Police. Check out those cheeques.

If you want to take a look at the food we’ve been eating on the Phoodplan, take a look here, but no snarkiness on my lousy photography. I know. Read the book.