The pros and cons of the coffee dietPosted: September 14, 2011
On the plus side…
- It works. I have lost over half a stone in under a fortnight. Not too shabby. I’m back to the weight I was before I went to France and ate cake to deaden the sound of my mother, and feel better for it. Coffee really does kill any desire to eat down dead.
- Drinking coffee makes me feel like a proper grown-up. I’ve always thought that when you’ve developed a taste for red wine, olives and coffee, you’ve reached adulthood and all the secrets of the universe will unfold for you. My love affair with a really rich Malbec began when I was about 22. Olives, hmmm… A little older. Maybe 24. But coffee has always remained stubbornly out of reach. Until now. I drink coffee; I am woman*. The end.
*But not like in those totally gibberish, up their own arse, French Connection ads. Just so as we’re clear.
But on the other hand…
- Jesus Christ – doesn’t it make your breath rancid? Ugh. I want to get away from my own saliva.
- My tongue is orange. Attractive, non?
- I am spending more time than I would like on the toilet. My stomach is rebelling.
- The verbal diarrhoea isn’t much better. Think Spud from Trainspotting, but wittering on about girly shit. And I can’t sit still.
- I’m not sure it should be legal to care for a child after a full cup. Or drive. Or drive with a child in the back of the car. On the way to the little petting farm in Matlock the other day, it occurred to me that I felt quite, quite drunk and floaty light. One Americano is all it took. One cup. Jesus.
- I’ve never been so tired my bones ache and I can’t sit up, yet totally unable to sleep before. Interesting.
My counsellor is a big fan of lists. She would look at the above list and ask me whether the pros of drinking coffee outweigh the cons. And she would see it as a numbers game. There are more cons than pros, ergo drinking coffee is a bad idea.
But I’ve always been about quality not quantity, and losing half a stone is well worth a few, um, minor inconveniences. The fact that, when I am skinny, no man will want me because I have the breath of a thousand terriers – and the equivalent nervous energy, come to that – does not concern me right now. I need to be thin(ner).
Did y’all see this picture of Christina Hendricks and Sarah Jessica Parker this week? It’s like looking at a picture of a giraffe and a rabbit. They both have fur and four legs, they’re both animals, but they are most definitely not the same species. Christina Hendricks and SJP are not the same species.
It heartens me that, of the two body types, I’d far rather have Christina’s magnifent curves – but has anyone ever seen a picture of her in jeans and a raincoat? And I mean a Berghaus 3-in-1, not a sexily belted trench with nothing underneath. Curves only seem to work if you channel your inner Marilyn every single day, and life is frankly too short for such nonsense. I could probably dress for my shape better, but it would involve cinching and pouring and corsetry and wiggling and time and effort and – dear God no – HIGH HEELS. I have a three-year old son, and a more-than-full-time job, and a needy, neurotic dog (where does she get it from…?), and all the natural grace of a baby deer on inline skates.
I am too lazy to be curvy. I need to be thin.