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The one sacrifice I never considered...

It’s not exactly the perfect end to a perfect meal at one of New York’s best restaurants, on my knees in a beautiful, dark wood paneled bathroom,* throwing up house-made raspberry truffles into a once pristine toilet, while cool lounge music plays softly in the background.  I’m just praying nobody can hear me, and also that the auto-flush won’t go off in my face.

Sometimes I wish I could turn the GB off.  Not so I can binge on Ben & Jerry’s, or stuff my face with ballpark hotdogs, but for special meals like Per Se in New York or Ristorante Semplice in London.  It would be nice to be able to have a set menu at a Michelin-starred restaurant without spending the rest of the evening either curled on my side (best-case) or throwing up (worst-case).  But it would be worse to miss out on all the amazing food on offer!

And drink.  Wine takes up a surprising amount of space in my stomach, especially rich reds like the delicious Barolos my bf likes to order (and I’d love to drink more of)!  My poor guy is usually responsible for at least 2/3 of every gorgeous bottle he orders when we go out, and while I know he doesn’t always mind drinking so much, I also know it disappoints him to see my glass go undrained when he’s put so much thought into the selection.

I think of my stomach like a pair of spandex bike shorts: designed to be slimming, but not always effective; elastic, but only to a point; losing elasticity with time and wear.  And as much as I know it’s my job to keep those (very expensive) spanx in tiptop shape, there are definitely times when I wish I could take them off. 





* That was the second time I’d visited Per Se’s loo, and I must say, the first time, when I just went to pee as usual, I was not so psyched to find myself sitting on the toilet, facing a full-length mirror and a view of my massive, grosso hips hanging precariously over the edges of the seat.  Not impressed.

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