During the day, it’s a rather uninteresting trail, and even at six in the evening, it doesn’t look like any kind of crowd. The smell of an orange sliced into yogurt wafts through the apartment, and the self-praise about a will as strong as the Terezin Bastille stinks a little. But in order for my determination not to eat anything calorically toxic to last until the morning, I would have to fall asleep right now. And sleep all night. Not that I don’t want to, nature thought it out wisely with hibernation. But explain it to the quilters who demand clean sheets every month, or to the publisher who demands a new book every year. Going to bed at six is a great way to lose weight, but getting up at four to get everything done is certain death for me. So I think a death caused by suffocation on a poppy seed bun is more merciful.
And so, every evening after sunset, my strong will is chased by the fate of a fairy-tale creature who must face many pitfalls, otherwise it crumbles to dust. I have no problem coping with the cravings for chocolate, wine, nuts, cheese, ice cream, raisins or salty bars. Especially when I don’t have any of it at home. But then I go to mix the seed mixture for the morning and lo and behold. A piece of dark chocolate from Christmas falls on me. There’s no point in hiding the three squares, shove them in your mouth! Fortunately, the candy has long since been eaten, although… Why is it in this box? Ah, gingerbread from a friend, which I tucked between bags of buckwheat and chickpeas in mid-December. This is the only place in the household where the husband never sharpens. What about them now? Well, nothing, since I’ve already peeled the chocolate, the gingerbread will arrive and I won’t lose weight again until tomorrow. But I’m waiting for the log celebration at my sister-in-law’s house. The woman is doing this to me on purpose because her birthday is in January! And anyway, what’s on the logs to celebrate, I have jeans full of them and no one brings me flowers because of it. But then again I don’t have wrinkles. Because women in their fifties already have it – either they grow an ass or they grow wrinkles. It’s not an easy choice. But when I look at the rest of the egg cognac like that, it’s clear to me.
