Eat your grass, weeds and all…


‘You know, that’s not good for you,’ I hear as I bite into the chocolate crème éclair…mmm, heaven!

I simply ignore the (ominous?) words, and carry on. Relishing each second spent on my luscious crème pastry, I pick at the crumbs left on the plate like a hungry bird zealously pecking till the last grain. Then, I turn to look at my friend.

Dressed in candy pink garbs, Roxanne matches the pink roses decorated on the small round table in the quaint coffee shop. An expression of incredulity is visible on her pretty face.

With eyebrows raised, mouth agape, she stares at me, and once again, exclaims, ‘God! Do you know how many calories you’ve just gulped down?’

‘Firstly,’ I begin, easing back into the cushioned wooden chair, ‘I hate to disappoint you, Roxanne, but I’m not God. And secondly, it is very rare that I indulge myself in such sweet luxuries.’ True.

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m very fond of my dear friend, but, at times, her keep-fit fanaticism gets my goat! She’s into aerobics, Pilates and now this new thing that everyone’s talking about, Zumba. I will admit, though, she’s kept herself slim and trim. Good for her.

Sitting beside her is friend Mildred. Mildred, now, is a totally different kettle of fish.

Does she lift weights? No way.

Aerobics? Nah.

Pilates? This is a definite no-no.

She eats whatever she likes. But I must say she still manages to stay in shape. Perhaps it’s her daily swimming and walking that creates the magic. Come rain or shine, she never misses a day. Commendable. Also, Botox is her trusty friend.

At the minute, she is enjoying her summer fruits trifle with an extra dollop of double cream. She oohs and ahs with each spoonful.

Roxanne, meanwhile, slowly nibbles away at her meal — a tomato and cucumber salad on a bed of lettuce and spinach. Healthy. And, commendable, I must add.

Deciding to enlist a couple of converts into her keep-fit fold, Roxanne begins a tirade of the various pros and cons of dieting and then goes on to describe how effective each mode of exercise is.

Politely, I listen to her.

Tick-Tock, time passes.

I’ve even drunk my latte, not a drop remains.

From the corner of my eye I see Mildred stifle a yawn. Then, she taps her well manicured nails on the table. Is that humming I hear? Alas, diplomacy is not her strong point.

Eventually, smiling (through gritted teeth?), she tells Roxanne, who is daintily holding up a spinach leaf, ‘Come on, darling, chop-chop! Eat your grass, weeds and all. There’s a ship load of shopping to do.’

Mildred, honestly! She really does take the cake, doesn’t she?

© Maloquacious, 2011.

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