(no subject)
Going for lunch can be an extremely disconcerting experience.
I am now finally at 53 Kg. It was hard work, but it is nice not to look like a half dead refugee. I would be even happier with a couple more healthy kilos, and so would Thomas, but one has to be contempt with little victories.
I love to eat. It is one of my biggest pleasures in life. Ok, apart from the cooked vegetables... I hate cooked vegetables other than in soup. Sadly, I keep hearing "Oh, you are so lucky!", just because I eat a lot and don't get fat. People don't understand, or refuse to, that not getting fatter while eating more than enough is not a blessing, it's a curse: if your body simply does not take the nutrients, you going to get deadly sick.
I go to eat always in the same cafeteria for lunch. This cafeteria serves not only all office buildings around, but also all the industrial companies, auto-repair shops, garden centres, and schools in the surroundings. My antipathy for the cooked vegetables has made me noticeable, and the chef always greats me always as the "Keine Gemüse" (no vegetables) Girl. We joke around as I arrive, chose the dish, and trade pleasantries. As I leave in the direction of the cash, carrying my tray with a nice juicy, still bloody ostrich steak, I feel threatened:
a) The guys from the industrial area slobber all over my steak. Food in Switzerland is extremely expensive (even MacDonald prices are scary), and most people cut on the food to be able to sustain little vices (like smoking, coffe, comic books). Therefore, they tend to forbid themselves from the more tasty snacks.
b) Women from the office buildings push their trays almost under mine, to fool themselves into believing the steak is actually theirs. These women (mostly on their 40s) eat only vegetables with a laughable sample of fish, or very rarely meat, because they cannot go over the idea that they are not fat. So the sight of a nice smoking steak next to them in the cash is for some almost unbearable, and they loose all notion of well-behavior, and just stare blankly at the said steak, ignoring the cashier asking them to weight their "meal".
c) The girls from the surrounding schools, mostly with so much make up they look like russian prostitutes (no offence meant to the russian professionals), come hoping in their high heels, cheap swiss copy of Cosmopolitan in hand, with a little bag of "food" and the lastest fashion on water (reported on said magazine) on the other (at the moment some colourful New York water). As they put their tiny salad (as in, really tiny salad) out of the bag, they discuss about how many kilos they have lost, disdain on how many the celebreties have won, and... and... As the juicy steak passes at the height of their noses, they all stare at the plate, start watering, then stoically turning back to their salad, repeat a couple more times how many kilos they have lost with the new diet, while corner-eyeing the bloody goodness.
Somehow the idea of eating such a worshiped piece of steak makes it taste even better. But somehow I feel like someone is going to hit me on the back of my head as I taste its juiciness...
I am now finally at 53 Kg. It was hard work, but it is nice not to look like a half dead refugee. I would be even happier with a couple more healthy kilos, and so would Thomas, but one has to be contempt with little victories.
I love to eat. It is one of my biggest pleasures in life. Ok, apart from the cooked vegetables... I hate cooked vegetables other than in soup. Sadly, I keep hearing "Oh, you are so lucky!", just because I eat a lot and don't get fat. People don't understand, or refuse to, that not getting fatter while eating more than enough is not a blessing, it's a curse: if your body simply does not take the nutrients, you going to get deadly sick.
I go to eat always in the same cafeteria for lunch. This cafeteria serves not only all office buildings around, but also all the industrial companies, auto-repair shops, garden centres, and schools in the surroundings. My antipathy for the cooked vegetables has made me noticeable, and the chef always greats me always as the "Keine Gemüse" (no vegetables) Girl. We joke around as I arrive, chose the dish, and trade pleasantries. As I leave in the direction of the cash, carrying my tray with a nice juicy, still bloody ostrich steak, I feel threatened:
a) The guys from the industrial area slobber all over my steak. Food in Switzerland is extremely expensive (even MacDonald prices are scary), and most people cut on the food to be able to sustain little vices (like smoking, coffe, comic books). Therefore, they tend to forbid themselves from the more tasty snacks.
b) Women from the office buildings push their trays almost under mine, to fool themselves into believing the steak is actually theirs. These women (mostly on their 40s) eat only vegetables with a laughable sample of fish, or very rarely meat, because they cannot go over the idea that they are not fat. So the sight of a nice smoking steak next to them in the cash is for some almost unbearable, and they loose all notion of well-behavior, and just stare blankly at the said steak, ignoring the cashier asking them to weight their "meal".
c) The girls from the surrounding schools, mostly with so much make up they look like russian prostitutes (no offence meant to the russian professionals), come hoping in their high heels, cheap swiss copy of Cosmopolitan in hand, with a little bag of "food" and the lastest fashion on water (reported on said magazine) on the other (at the moment some colourful New York water). As they put their tiny salad (as in, really tiny salad) out of the bag, they discuss about how many kilos they have lost, disdain on how many the celebreties have won, and... and... As the juicy steak passes at the height of their noses, they all stare at the plate, start watering, then stoically turning back to their salad, repeat a couple more times how many kilos they have lost with the new diet, while corner-eyeing the bloody goodness.
Somehow the idea of eating such a worshiped piece of steak makes it taste even better. But somehow I feel like someone is going to hit me on the back of my head as I taste its juiciness...