Essay #14 (The Diet)

"Mom, please! Mom! A cucumber, Mom, please," Aziza pleaded, or rather the pit in her stomach asked her to plead.

"Nope. Not allowed. Aziza, you're 14 years old and you have stretch marks! If we're on this diet, we're not cheating!" her mother fired back as she reached out and lifted the side of Aziza's shirt to reveal the cursed signs of weight-gain. They both giggled and set out to look at what inedidible, saltless, sugarless food they were to have for dinner. The diet plan come through a neighbor who promised they'd lose 12 kilos in 12 days. Their giggles were sucked back in when they read:

Day V:
Breakfast - Black coffee
Lunch - 1 large boiled carrot; 500 g. boiled fish
Dinner - Salad of raw cabbage and oil

The diet was almost bearable, save for the presence of the man of the house, Rustam. He weighs more than both of them together, probably due to his habit of eating mayonnaise straight from the jar with a larger than standard-sized spoon. When his poor, mildly chubby wife gave the candy dish a sidelong glance, he taunted, "Not allowed, Fatima!" as he licked butter and sour cream off his fingers one at a time. She failed to retort that the one who had had a heart attack and simultaneously had managed to swallow a giant bone that lodged itself in his throat, giving him chest pains twice over just two weeks ago, shouldn't really be the one to scold.

Fatima optimistically chopped cabbage and liberally poured oil over both portions. With a smile, she brought them into the living room and presented Aziza with dinner. They both sat, pushing their raw cabbage around their pools of oil, visualizing hot shish-kebabs and borsch.

"Mom, I can't eat this. I can't!" Aziza whined.

"Ooph. Me neither, Sweetie!" Fatima responded as they whimpered and giggled their way to the kitchen to dispose of the whole mess.

"She's too young to be that big," Fatima had argued four long days earlier. "She gets it from her father's side, but she certainly doesn't do anything to prevent it, sitting here all day."

"What do you mean I just sit here all day?!" Aziza shouted from the living room where she was sitting watching TV. "What should I do, run?!"

"Hey, I'll run with you, if you want." I said, hoping I could get some much-needed excercise out of this new leaf.

"Really? You will run? Okay! Let's go!" Aziza complied much faster than I had expected.

With that, we headed out to the heath walk, a 4k path set against the mountains that happens to contain more stairs than the Empire State Building. Agbar, Aziza's 16 year old brother, was happy to drive us with his newly gained privileges. Besides almost killing 8 old ladies and overusing the brakes almost as much as the speakers, he got us there safe and sound. With Aziza's enthusiasm in soprano range (a high Eb on a good day), we began a slow jog. Much to my dismay, that slow jog lasted approximately .13k before my chubby sister couldn't possbly carry herself any farther.

"Kari, please, just rest one minute! Just one minute, I'm so tired . . . so tired!" she once again pleaded, this time from her legs, leaning against the rail as if maimed by some unseen force.

"Aziza, come on. Just walk. We'll power walk. A nice brisk hike. Aziza!... AZIZA!"

The rest of the 4k, needless to say, had continued much the same, though I didn't blame her for not siphoning more energy out of her boiled carrot.

By Day 5 Aziza's enthusiasm was a mellow, warm-toned alto. We ran by day, and she begged for cucumbers by night. Though Fatima relented and let her eat 2 cucumbers and a mandarin after the inedible cabbage went down the garbage disposal, I believe her own softness may have come after I caught her on Day 3 drinking a beer in the closet and on Day 4 eating a chocolate bar while pretending to iron.

Just don't tell Aziza or she'll never finish her boiled egg and fish!