I love to eat. A lot. Sometimes I eat because I’m hungry. Sometimes I eat because it’s rude to decline food when visiting someone’s house. But most times I eat just because I can. And the food is there. And it’s bad manners not to appreciate food. I’m greedy. There, I’ve said it. I’m greedy. I’m not one of those chicks who say they don’t eat much, and pick at their food. Or those who say they don’t understand why they’re not slim (also often referred to as being ‘curvy’ in various fashion blogs when really it’s just FAT) because they don’t even eat much. I know very well why I’m the size I am: it’s because I love to eat. When I’m not eating I’m thinking of eating, and even when I’ve just eaten I’m already planning my next meal. Si that’s greed?

My ideal date, be it with my family, my girls, Mr. Nice Guy, a client or my boys, is one where we can eat. But I draw the line sometimes. I will not eat nyam chom. Or eggplant. Or fried eggs. Even a greedy girl must have standards. So because I had very many such dates in December, when my youth had peaked like it was scared I was about to lock it up and throw away the key, I gained weight. Not too much, but enough to make my clothes feel snug and prevent me from wearing those tight skirts of mine that give me a full leg work out every time I wear them because of the sheer effort it takes to walk in them while wearing heels (and avoiding the tiny, mincing steps favoured by the Chinese and their love for Lotus feet).

Anyway, like women all over the world do in January, I went on a diet. Now this is not one of those diets for pussies (no offense intended to feminists, I am not trying to imply that women are weak, I could be talking about kittens, hehe), those that tell you that you can eat anything you want as long as you control your portions. Or those that give you a ‘cheat day’ during which you can reward yourself for sticking to your diet for six of the seven days in the week.

No. This is for those with will, discipline and balls. Kind of like Van Damme’s, because I don’t think he could have done that Volvo ad without them (though Chuck Norris’ Christmas message was for giving Van Damme kiwaru, and would have if it had been the real deal like Mr. Damme’s). It’s for those who can withstand the ill will wished upon them by the sadist that created the diet. This is the metabolic diet.

Now if you remember well, I did the same diet in July 2012 and very nearly died. But I lost about 5-6kg so I thought it was worth it. I think I scared death by finishing the diet even! So I decided last week that I would remind death that it can’t mess with me, and that I will not die from slight starvation because I AM SPARTAN! Ok no but I like the leading lady’s outfit in the movie. Plus I just kept thinking how fat is not my portion in 2014 (just like poverty is not), not when I plan to take a holiday and boast in my bikini.

When I brought it up Mr. Nice Guy was very supportive, then I chickened out and he still supported me, telling me I could lose the extra weight by watching what I eat and working out. I think he must have seen that I wasn’t following his advice because while we were chilling this past Saturday, he saw my stomach and let me tell you his exact words: [insert mean laugh] gai babe [insert mean laugh again] you can hide something in there [insert mean laugh again, this time louder]. By which he meant that I could hide something within the fold of my lower belly, which in that position was resting very comfortably on my upper thigh (I kid you not).

Let me tell you, I honestly felt disgusted with myself at that time. I have never looked at my body and gone like, yes baby, you are so perfect. No. Like millions of women I have insecurities about my body. I’ve always wanted a flat toned tummy (can’t even use flatter here because that would imply that it’s a little flat and to be honest, it is not at the moment), and smaller, toned thighs and slightly slimmer hips. I admit that I have a love/hate relationship with the weighing scale. I prefer to step on it when naked because sometimes I think even my nail polish is contributing to those numbers. And I suck in my stomach. A lot.