Plot’s diet wasn’t exactly going to plan. Waiting an extra ten minutes before pigging out on industrial sized catering packs of crisps (Chips – USA) wasn’t exactly making the pounds melt off as she clambered onto the scales.
The technique of not pouring a personal portion of nuts didn’t have much truck either, mostly because she kept stealing Mr Plot’s when he wasn’t looking. Mr Plot wasn’t stupid though, and Plot was sure she could hear him singing Who ate all the pies? in the background sometimes, even though her swore he didn’t.
Thoughts of the chocolate fudge cake that she made for the Autumn Fair lurked in the shadier corners of Plots mind too, but she remembered the look on the teacher’s face, and gave that thought a good hard shove.
Too many chocolate cakes had caused Plot’s previous hourglass figure to somehow morph into something much more barrel shaped, it was time to do something about it.
Actually the time to do something was probably about 15 years ago; back when she could still afford a rather spiffing gym membership, and more the point, could still fit into leisurewear that didn’t need a degree in engineering just to put on.
Basically Plot needed a wormhole in space, to take her back in time, and this might prevent the bl
snack hole that had developed in her kitchen. Ignoring how freaky it was, she imagined giving herself a stern talking too about portion sizes and how much Guinness is actually ‘good for you’.
She wombled off to Planet Simon to see if he had any ideas.
Locating a wormhole, wasn’t the issue, he said, little ones form all the time, but there was a bigger problem, as the moment that she entered a wormhole it would collapse under her mass, which was basically just rude.
Wormholes sounded a lot like willpower, Plot was unimpressed and bumbled on a bit further.
Thoughts of chocolate cake had been replaced by the vision of apple cider donuts round at Fatty McCupcakes, but when she finally got there the cupboard was bare! There was a postcard lying on the doormat, of a donkey with a Kiss-me-quick hat on, Katie had buggered off on holiday to Blackpool, leaving Plot more than a sprinkle short of a McCupcake. So much for comfort eating then.
‘S’Alright for some’ Plot huffed, and decided to drown her sorrows with a Gin & Lemonade with a twist. Lorna gave her a hard look “Go Big or Eat Celery” was the no nonsense reply to the time honoured question “does my Mass look big in this?” Plot harrumphed. She was already big, and no fan of celery. Come the revolution celery would be re-categorised as a weed, come to think of it there were a few other things that needed re-categorised starting with ‘cottage cheese’ which as everybody knows is just biodegradable cavity wall insulation.
Why anybody would want to eat that stuff was an anathema worthy of one of the medieval mystery plays April was talking about earlier in the week. Except there was no mention of Cottage Cheese in the Bible, and the Guild of Cheesemongers probably had better things to write about anyway. The 14th Century was full of stuff that Plot didn’t like the sound of eating, she hoped they were spared one more.
Niall turned up, just as Plot was ready to Give up the Ghost, Niall knew all about the finer points of the English language and was usually good for a bit of craic. Plot couldn’t help bringing up the irony of the words hyphenated and non-hyphenated, Niall looked like he might have heard that before, but Plot was on a roll ‘So why does Illiterate mean someone who can’t read or write, but alliterate be a tedious, tangle of type? Niall had a tangible look of torment, ‘you don’t half talk some tripe sometimes’ he said getting his coat. Plot didn’t notice, she was already off on another tangent.
What Plot needed was an Emma Edit, if she checked out Blogs in Bloom, she could perhaps find someone who could help her with the ever expanding waistline, or at the very least she could get some help to disguise it. Plot had heard of this thing called contouring and wondered if it would work on her midriff, maybe someone could paint a waist on her, maybe she could even get a six pack for the first time in her life. Plot was getting ahead of herself, and wondered what the funny noise was, when she looked down she saw Karalee, Kirsty and Amelia rolling on the floor laughing. “It was the last bit about you with a six pack” said Kirsty, gasping for air, ‘too funny”.
That was it, Plot flounced off to her allotment, and had a good old chat to her plants as she dug the soil over, it was hard work, and it wasn’t long before she had built up a
sweat head of steam, it was almost like a workout. After a long sedentary winter, it was time to get her mass off the sofa and do a bit of work.