After a weekend of Chocolate Mousse Bombs and other assorted decadent desserts, I was pretty sure that when I went for my weekly diet weigh-in, I was going to be thrown in Jenny Craig Jail. Surely the diet police would be able to sniff out the fact that I had not merely veered off the plan, I had taken a detour so extreme that I had ended up diet roadkill. Yet, even if my Jenny advisor didn’t detect my sins, I figured the scale would definitely give me away. However, the Weight Loss Gods must have been smiling on me this time because I only gained two tenths of a pound and no one was the wiser.
Still, this is not what one would call progress, by any means. And with the beach season looming, I realized I was going to have to find a way to make this diet stick.
This is when my Jenny advisor suggested I find a friend.
“When you have a diet buddy, you are both much more likely to succeed,” she encouraged me. This was good in theory. The problem was, I couldn’t think of anyone who would want to torture, I mean, transform themselves along with me.
Later that night as I sat having dinner with my family and pretending that my Jenny enchilada was just as good as their grilled strip steak, I felt something wet drip on my feet. I looked down and saw the dog, under the table, drooling on my toes, and willing me with his eyes to drop something, anything, on the floor.
I willingly obliged.
“Honey, you have to stop giving the dog table scraps,” barked my husband. “Look at him. He’s getting huge!”
I gave the dog the once over and realized it was true. The dog was a little stocky. Fat, actually. He looked like he quite possibly had eaten another, smaller dog. If I had to guess I would say he had put on about ten pounds over the winter…
Just like me!
“Hey! The dog needs to lose weight and I need to lose weight. He can be my diet buddy!” I exclaimed.
“How’s that gonna work?” wondered my husband.
“He can go for runs with me and we can both cut down on our portions and eat special diet food.”
“Does Jenny make diet food for dogs?” asked my daughter.
“No,” I laughed. “I will get him some lo-cal kibble.”
“It sounds like a good plan, honey,” said my husband. “Just a word of advice.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Don’t mix up the food.”