Lori C linch

Are We There Yet?

I despise the TV programming this time of year. It’s “weight-loss” this and “diet” that. Exercise more, eat less and you’ll work your derriere right down to a size 6.

I wish.

I did some figuring the other day and calculated that I’ve lost a total of 1,148 pounds during my lifetime. By all accounts, I should be the size of Thumbelina and proudly sporting a label that says “fat free.”

Now that I look back on the holidays, I realize that I should have limited the eggnog. While we’re at it, it would have been a good idea to keep desserts to a minimum, and any fool with half an ounce of restraint would have passed on the third helping of Mother’s pea and egg salad. Who knew the peas would go straight to my thighs? My jeans feel tight, my belt screams to be let out a notch and even my socks are starting to show signs of distress.

And they’re one-size-fits-all.

Generally speaking, I like to put off my post-holiday dieting until the fudge is gone. And I always think it’s best to wait until after the Christmas cookies have been devoured to start counting calories. Then there’s always the chocolate-covered cherries from Aunt Mimsy to consider, the fruitcake that’s gotta go, and hey, those bourbon balls aren’t going to eat themselves.

To make matters worse, my friend, Karen, made a glorious batch of Creamy Chocolate Eatmore Bars for the holidays. (She used to be a gal I could count on.)

“Oh, they’re so simple,” she said with a smile on the day that she showed up at the door and motioned for her delivery boy to haul a carton of them in. “I just took a plethora of chocolate, a gallon of cream and folded it all together. It sounds quite fattening, but once you consider the calcium value, a 20-ounce serving provides all of the essential nutrients, protein and potassium your body requires for the day.”

She said they were for the family, but I hid them in the back of the freezer behind a bag of chicken gizzards, and the kids didn’t get so much as a whiff of them. It took me the better part of the holiday season to devour the lot of them by myself.

Now, desperate times call for desperate measures. So I called my good friend, Louise, yesterday and challenged her to a weight-loss contest.

“First one to lose 10 pounds,” I said as I swallowed the last Chocolate Eatmore Bar, “buys the other one lunch.”

“You’re on,” said Louise. “I’ll meet at your house on Wednesday at 9 a.m. We’ll talk over strategies, and then weigh in.”

She showed up promptly at 8:30 with a smile and a box of donuts. “What are those?” I asked as I eyeballed the double chocolate.

“One last hurrah before we commence to starving ourselves.”

“I don’t need a hurrah, I need will power. I’m starting to make a beeping sound when I back up.”

“Oh, you are not. Besides, I know at least 10 women heavier than you.”

“Really?” I asked as I devoured half of a donut in one bite. “Name one.”

“Well, my dear friend, Zelda, hasn’t seen her toes since September.”

“But Zelda is 8 1/2 months pregnant.”

“Yeah, well, with a body like she had, we all knew she was bound to gain weight.”

I poured the coffee and added an abundance of cream. Then we toasted our new and healthy lifestyle with a cream-filled log.

I started out with good intentions. I watched Oprah’s dietitian on TV, went to an exercise class and even parked at the far end of a parking lot. Things were going splendidly. That is, until my dear friend, Freda (whom I’ve always trusted), called to announce that she was bringing over a case of post-holiday Cookie Balls.

“I just crushed them into a fine powder,” she said as she sat a case of them on the floor. “Then I added a pound of cream cheese and smothered them with chocolate, which just so happens to be a vegetable. I know it sounds fattening. But when you consider the nutritional value of the cream cheese, they’re as healthy as a bowl of parsley snips.”

Ah, shoot. Who really wants a size 6 derriere anyway?

Lori Clinch is the mother of four sons and the author of the book “Are We There Yet?” Her e-mail address is lclinch@charter.net.