Now, I’m aware it’s mostly water, and that since what I’m drinking is mostly water, I’m sure to continue to lose more mostly water weight BUT I do feel less sluggish and gross. Side benefit: because I’m so dang full of water, I’m more sloshy than hungry, so there’s that.
Now for the BAD NEWS: I passed out cold in the bathroom at 3am yesterday morning.
Like did a slow slide off the toilet as the lights spun out in my brain and landed on the bathroom rug, my pants around my ankles as I slipped into a full on blackout. It was a very graceful blackout. Well, as graceful as you can be at 3am as you’re sliding off a toilet. Which, I’m going to be honest, can’t imagine was very graceful BUT the room was pin wheeling to darkness so I’m going to pretend it was pretty.
All I could think as my face hit the bathroom rug was that I needed to not die because if I did die, Husband would find me in this oh so glamorous position and be even more traumatized than he is. He already can’t eat in people’s homes due to a few scary kitchen incidents; I can’t take the bathroom away from his happy places to be.
I can only imagine what my obituary might say because he would be the one in charge of writing it and he has no problem telling the truth. Which means it would probably end up saying something along the lines of, ‘ej died in the early morning hours of June 16th on the floor with her knickers around her knees.’ A true fact but hardly one I want my high school crush to read as he sits down for his morning coffee.
Not to mention that that embarrassing statement would make that evil b***h, the one that made my school life miserable, immensely happy. There is no way I could let that happen so I lay on the floor till the world stopped going dark and the shaking subsided, pulled my knickers back up and wobbled my way back to bed. At least if I died there, Husband could make it sound like we were 'making the sweet magic' when I died and not the unglamorous reality of, ‘Unhappy with her weight and looking for a life epiphany, ej stopped eating for two days and died in the bathroom.’ He could write something along the lines of ‘ej left this world in the throws of passion.’ Or ‘ej died in her loving Husband’s arms. He will be ready to date after a suitable morning period.’
But I didn’t die, of shame or lack of food - though the potential shame came close to killing me.
Of course, in the light of day, with a few morsels of food in me now, I find the whole thing hysterical. I mean, the coroner would have to do an autopsy to find cause of death and Husband wouldn’t have likely found me until I was in rigor mortis so they’d have to load me on an ambulance covered in a sheet with my ass sticking out. Imagine the Mayor of Our Street trying to figure out what was under the sheet. I could take bets on how long it would be before she called Husband trying to find out what happened. "Hello, Husband. This is the Mayor. How are you? How's your dog? Your lawn is looking lovely... So, I noticed the ambulance..."
And what if they thought Husband had poisoned me and they started looking through all our stuff al la CSI? I’ve got stuff on the computer that I’m sure could implicate me in a whole bunch of questionable things - I just Googled 'How long till rigor mortis sets in' for goodness sake! And who knows what’s on Husband’s computer. I mean he spent four months looking at microphone porn, who knows what else he’s got on his search history or stored on the hard drive.
And I can just see the line of awkward dates that Husband is going to have to go on to find himself a new wife. Can you imagine Husband having to break in a new woman? Getting her to be okay with the routines that can’t change and the schedules that must be adhered to and the language that will need to be interpreted... Yeah, I’d love to be a fly on the wall watching that mess happen.
But I can’t do that to her. Or him. So I’m eating again.
I’d like to say I’ve learned my lesson and that my eating habits have changed and that I’m sure to be as healthy as I was before I married and ate my way though each evening of trashy television watching but I know myself better. So, I'll see you back here in a few years, okay? Hopefully I'm not dead and my knickers are right where they belong.