Sunday 4 February 2007

Faustian Bargains

For the past three days, in between reading Jude the Obscure, I’ve been checking out Neris and India’s Idiot-Proof Diet. These two self-described cocktail-happy, greedy mums each lost five stone – approximately what I’d like to lose – by eating cream, mayonnaise, butter, sausage, cheese, and nuts. (It’s not Atkins, but it doesn’t seem awfully far from it.) This Thing I’m Doing (and have been for 69 days) allows virtually none of those, but does allow unlimited fruit and, on some days, pasta (really – though I measure mine because I don’t trust myself). Both are supposed to be “eating plans for life” – so which foods would I rather have more often? Ummm, whichever I’m not allowed, I suppose.

Pasta or cream? Bananas or butter? Do I really have to choose?

It’s been a tough week. Fashion party in honor of the ugliest handbags I’ve seen in years. High tea for a colleague (he doesn’t drink so the standard “leaving drinks” were out of the question). Birthday party at this insanely trendy club Prince William and Kate Middleton like, where all the size zero sprites are wearing miniskirts and I recognized half the staff of Wallpaper sitting on one banquette. Told to stop running by physiotherapist. And then a depressing trek across Oxford Street yesterday, hunting for jeans I might actually like. (No luck, and still the same size as when I started.) Saw two separate people I have not seen in two months and 21 pounds, and neither appeared to notice I’ve lost any weight. Not surprising, since I can’t even see it myself. Sigh.

Onward and downward, I hope.

* * *

Last night my friend O. and I saw quite possibly the worst theatre I’ve ever seen in my life – even worse than this (I've told O. he's fired from choosing shows to see.) The play, Pinter's People, was slated on Newsnight, too, apparently, but today O. texted me to tell me the Sunday Times had given it four out of five stars. My bet is that like us, the critic didn’t get what it was about – but instead of having a laugh freaked out that it was too profound for him to understand and gave it a good review.

O. has returned to London after three months escaping his life in the U.S. It was good to see him, but I felt preternaturally aware of the passing of time – the way you do when you’re a college senior and it’s almost over. In a few months we won’t be able to sit around cafes until after midnight talking our usual trash. I can’t get my head around the fact that in May he’s going to be someone’s father – and that his ex, who has been known to respond to profoundly important questions of his by leaving three minutes of Chopin but no words on his voicemail – is going to be someone’s mother. My January has been incredibly quiet, but after talking to O., I felt newly grateful for that.

1 comment:

  1. "Size zero sprites." Great choice of noun.

    ". . . preternaturally aware of the passing of time – the way you do when you’re a college senior and it’s almost over." Perfectly said. I still have dreams about that feeling, that time.

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