All We Have to Do Is Take This Lie and Make It True

By Lisa

I just lost five pounds. As they say, Ask me how!

The answer is, Denial.

Not that I didn’t really lose the weight, but I lost it by going into denial.

Denial is something I’m really good at. All of the Flying Scottolines are denial experts.

Denial is in our DNA.

In fact, we think DNA stands for Do Not Acknowledge.

Our exciting family history is replete with examples. For example, none of us realized that Brother Frank was gay even though he never dated a woman, had a long-term guy “friend,” and was never without a tank top.

Of mesh.

And when Frank and his “friend” moved in together, they shared a bedroom and both bought bulldogs.

Still, we missed that obvious clue.

If you see matching dogs, look for a gay couple.

And when Frank got a job as a bartender in a gay bar, we figured it was the only job he could get. And when he finally told us, we still didn’t believe it, and when we finally did and told other people, they all knew.

Bottom line, it didn’t matter to my mother or father that Frank was gay, plus we were happy for the extra dog.

I have top-quality, Grade-A denial, and it’s finally working in my favor.

Here’s what happened.

You may recall that I have high cholesterol, and I was going to see the doctor, so I needed a blood test. And it had to be a fasting blood test, which means that you can’t eat anything after seven o’clock at night.

Uh-oh.

I have a hobby, which is eating after seven o’clock at night.

I actually look forward to seven o’clock, so I can start eating, especially in winter. Some people like winter white, but I like winter weight.

Who needs a Snuggie when you are a Snuggie?

I finish dinner and then start eating, so everything I eat after seven o’clock has a name.

Dessert.

But I knew I had a blood test, and I never cheated on a test before and wasn’t about to start. So I vowed not to eat after seven o’clock, and the way I accomplished this was by eating up to-but-not-including seven o’clock, then going upstairs and watching TV.

I knew I had to put some distance between the refrigerator and me. The first floor ain’t big enough for the both of us.

So I stayed upstairs and came down only to walk the dogs at eleven o’clock, and even then I passed the refrigerator with gritted teeth.

So far, so good.

But to make a long story short, the next morning, I got an important phone call and I couldn’t get to the lab, so I decided to postpone the blood test until the next day. And when the next night rolled around, I didn’t eat after seven o’clock, using the same method, for the second night in row.

And succeeded!

Then something else happened, merely by accident, or as proof of a God who watches over middle-aged women with middles.

My bunion surgery got scheduled and I had to hurry up and get another blood test, and so I didn’t eat after seven o’clock, for the third night in a row.

And when I got on the scale the next day, I had lost a whole entire pound.

WOW!

And suddenly, I decided to get a new hobby.

Because I realized, if I had a blood test every day, I might be able to lose more weight. But of course, I didn’t need to have a real blood test, if I could convince myself that I had an imaginary blood test.

So that’s what I did.

And it worked!

And then I had the bunion surgery and had to stay upstairs, and could only eat when kind souls brought me food, and one week later, I lost five pounds!

It may not sound like a lot, but to me, it’s a miracle. And I hope to lose more, on my patented Denial Diet.

Not that I think you can try this at home. You of healthy mind may not be able to convince yourself of a lie the way I can.

After all, I convinced myself that nobody notices the dog-hair tumbleweeds in the corners of my house.

I also convinced myself that the occasional turd in my fireplace is from a passing goose, and not from the cats, telling me to change the litter box.

Going back, I had even convinced myself I had a happy marriage.

Twice.

And going forward, I have convinced myself that someday, I will find true love with a man.

Who doesn’t wear a tank top.

Hey, it could happen.