Weighing in on…Monday Mornings

Okay, so there’s New Year’s Day, the annual blip of hope and new beginnings for Fatties the world over.

Then we have the seasonal anniversaries of resolve and renewal, like “Yikes! Bathingsuit Season’s Just Around the Corner!” Day (May), and “Help! I’m the Size of a Woman in Labor!” Day (September).

Then we have the most universal and ubiquitous collective conscious experience for Fatties, hands down:


Fifty-two times every year. No exceptions.

The food oopsies of the weekend have come and gone. The party’s over. It’s a new week. Either the kids are back at school, the work week has begun, the regular primetime TV schedule is back in full swing, or some combination of the three.

Whatever the individual triggers are, the outcome’s the same. A nausea-like wave of realization slaps us in the flub and tells us it’s time to buckle down, get serious, and shed some pounds.

Ambitious exercise regimens course through some of our brains. Weekly meal planning is the go-to rite of passage for others.

Details aren’t as important as understanding this:

Every female – and I do mean EVERY female – with any unwanted chub on her skeletal structure whatsoever, considers some kind of diet or weight loss regimen on Monday mornings.

There’s a theatrical sweep of the psychological slate. Inner monologues are channeled as drill sergeants, knuckle-whipping nuns, and broad-shouldered, square-jawed women named Helga.

“That’s it. I’m serious this time.”

“No more messing around. Let’s do this thing.”

“I am never eating anything but cabbage, celery, and fiber-infused cereal, ever again.”

“Two hours a day – 1000 crunches, five miles on the treadmill, full-circuit free weights, and a good 30 minutes on the bike, elliptical, or stairmaster, depending on my mood. No excuses.”

“How bad IS bulimia on my tooth enamel, really?”

Cookies are sworn off. Fast food is noted as the Devil’s poison, never to be touched. Gym memberships are recalled fondly.

The plan’s in place. The strategy is bulletproof. Fate as a skinny Minnie is signed, sealed, and just waiting to be delivered.

Breakfast’s are skipped. Fat clothes are scowled at and told they’re not long for their closets.

For those first few hours on Monday morning, women are proud and happy of themselves. There have been no slip-ups – no binges, no skipped workouts, no surrender to fried, salty lard sticks.

From 6am to 11am on Monday, Weighties everywhere are thinking, “This very well could be the first day of the rest of my flat-stomached life.”

And it could. Except for one, small thing.


And even if Tuesday keeps the same rules and momentum as a flawless, faithful, perfectly executed Monday – a feat of grand proportions! – then Wednesday has to come and go. And Thursday has that after-work networking thing. And Friday there’s dinner with the Swinsons, then brunch on Saturday, and your in-laws are coming over for dinner on Sunday, and they ALWAYS want bread, dessert, and wine, at the VERY least…

But thank heavens for Monday.

Monday – the day all diets and weight loss plans are possible, if only for one fabulous, fleeting jiffy.

(I’d write more, but it’s 11:10am right now. I have to go eat something before I pass out.)

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