I want to be the first to recommend the coronavirus as a holiday weight-loss plan.
Since high school (I should have graduated in 1970, but I interrupted my educational career with a stint in the military) I have followed the Elvis Presley Holiday Diet Plan. That means I’ve gained only two pounds a year.
Still, like the rest of us, I’ve yearned to return to my boyish frame. So on Oct. 29, I stood in line at an Edmond church to early vote (at the time, I called it early vote suppression.)
I wore a mask the entire four hours; others didn’t. And by counting backwards in time, I arrived at that Thursday as I-Day. I was lethargic the following Sunday (call it Day 1), but didn’t know why. I didn’t feel sick enough to have the coronavirus.
On the following Friday (Day 5) – the day after Election Day – the hospital told me I tested positive. No obvious symptoms, however, so I told everyone it was a false positive.
Day 6 was humility day. I bounced from bedtable to dresser to door frame to get to the bathroom. Then, heaving for air, I made it back to bed. My heart pounded so loudly I could hear it over Hoda’s voice on the Today show. (Hoda’s my girlfriend.)
To the point of this blog: COVID 19 as an appetite suppressant. I’ve tried pills, I’ve tried grapefruit diets and egg diets and Atkins diets, I’ve tried relying on my own prodigious willpower. Nevertheless, I gained 90 pounds after graduation.
No diet has worked as well as the Coronavirus Diet – (sing it with me, Data, “you little life form, you tiny little life form.” On Day 9, I ate a quarter of an apple for breakfast, and another quarter for supper. I didn’t want to eat until Day 13.
Somewhere in all this, however, I’ve lost my butt. I swear. I looked in the mirror, and it’s gone. Completely disappeared. If anyone sees it, send it back to me.
Fast forward –yes, I say that humorously – to Day 14. Resurrection Day. That Saturday, I rose, drove myself to Panera, ate the marvelous breakfast wrap (chipotle chicken in a multi-grain tortilla – I heartily recommend it), and sat up for two hours.
Bottom line. I weighed myself today, Day 16. Lost 23 pounds. If I could hold myself up to the sunlight, I think it would shine right through me.
But don’t take my word for it. Kiss a sick person. (If you’re over 65, kinda cute, and of the female persuasion, I’m a published author. Ask for my website address. Or meet me at Braum’s for coffee and a sausage burrito.)
I swear, if scientists could figure out how this works, they’d market it on the home shopping network.