SOME of my friends are bathing more than often these days. Apparently, there’s a soap that claims to help you lose weight. But the wait I had at the pharmacy yesterday was long. The heavy line that met me was due to a new weight-loss product that claims to get rid of excess belly fat. Since this column is my soapbox of sorts, allow me to weigh in on this matter.
Fit people like Sacha Cabral and Evy Bentham know that you can’t wash away fat just so. You have to work out (or like Evy, wuk up) until past the point of passing out. And when it comes to popping pills? Let me tell you: just last week I read in the Telegraph about the sad case of a 21-year-old who died from dinitrophenol, a deadly toxin, similar to the explosive TNT. Her slimming tablets took away more than some extra pounds. It took her life. All I have to say to you is, if you love brownies, plenty food and drink, expect to pack on some pounds if you don’t exercise. I’m telling you this from experience. Fitness or fatness is entirely up to you and, either way, it’s a journey – not an overnight achievement.
If looks could kill
The diet talk is making me hungry, though, so let’s stray from that topic.
Brownie is my middle dog from the RSPCA. First, there was Billy, then Brownie; and Blackie came last. Brownie is lickrish. I decided to put the dogs on a special eating programme, but apparently Brownie looked at too much news over the last month. He protested. If looks could kill, Brownie would have been guilty. The dog was real vex.
Last week, I came home to a frothing Brownie. Frightened, I tried to get him into the car. Brownie sped off in a frenzy. I was hollering as I ran after him. I cornered him near to the house of a lady, who heard me talking. Reader, this was so refreshing. It was after sunset and the lady could have decided not to come out, but she instead brought out some molasses for me to down into Brownie’s throat, since she realised something was wrong.
Her name is Beverly. Beverly, thank you so much for your kindness. I then hauled a thirty-pound Brownie about a quarter mile uphill, thinking all the while that I had had too many brownies over the last year or so. Puffing and panting, I saw something in Brownie’s throat. It was a bone! Thankfully, he had not bitten a frog as I had thought. Adrenaline rushed as I pushed my hand into his mouth, but the bone was lodged deeply.
En route to Dr Walton’s office, I constantly asked Brownie how he got a hold of the bone in the first place, since I don’t give the dogs bones. No answer. Just a sheepish look from the dog. Thankfully, bone was out and Brownie is happy. He’s no longer on a diet.
Veoma Ali is an author, broadcaster, advertising exec and, most important, a karaoke lover.
