Friday, September 7, 2012

Fat Mom's Lunch Fajita for One

Dear Reader,

I don't know if it is the end of summer, the return of election year anxiety, or all of this suburban pudge I have packed on since moving out of the city, but I'm kind of down in the dumps.  A frumpy dumpy mom is what I am, as a matter of fact.  Yesterday I was explaining to my eight year old daughter that her math homework really wouldn't take that much time.  She looked at me in my yoga pants and Aerosmith t-shirt from Target that is now covered in paint from when I decided I could paint the garage, and said, "You know what else doesn't take much time?  Putting together a decent outfit."

If I had the energy or the inclination I might have scolded her for rudeness.  But, she's right.  It takes no more time to put on a casual dress than it does those dorky yoga pants - you know, the ones for people that don't actually do yoga.  After moving I developed some awful thing in my foot - a heel spur and Plantar Fascitis, so gone are the days when I would run five or six miles every morning.  My foot hurt so badly for a while, that I could barely walk, much less run.  But then I went to the Nike outlet in Freeport, ME and bought myself a pair of Nike Icarus running shoes.  They felt different - better even that the fancy orthotics I was told to buy by the podiatrist.  So I ran.  The first day I made it one mile, the second a mile and a half, and on and on until today.  Thanks to those Nike's and the super fun app Zombies, Run! I managed to pound out four miles this morning.  Up hills and everything!  After my shower I pulled on a cotton dress from the J. Crew outlet in Freeport, ME (do you sense a pattern?) went to the regfrigerator, opened the doors and let the icy air waft over me for a minute until I was faced by another problem.  Food, ugh.  See, this suburban pudge I mentioned comes in the form of eight pounds that have settled on me seemingly for good.  No amount of Weight Watchers tracking points or bowls of watermelon have made a bit of difference.  Bleh.  Maybe this is just me now?  Maybe this is me becoming a middle-aged lady.  It's true that I find myself watching Face the Nation most Sundays.  I never did that before.  Perhaps I need to go to the mall and buy myself a nice new outfit at Lane Bryant to cheer me up.  Maybe I'll do that later, but for now, I'm going back to the fridge to rustle up some lunch, and what I feel like is something a little spicy, a little sweet, something healthy but that won't leave me feeling famished in an hour because I have four different cheeses and three kinds of crackers that are actually singing to me the soundtrack to Jesus Christ Superstar a capella.  So I am armed with a little bit of advice for myself.  It's okay to eat my feelings, but not okay to look like I do.

Fat Mom's Lunch Fajita for One

You will need:

One whole wheat tortilla
Green pepper
White Vinegar
Chili powder
Cooking spray
Black beans

First, take off the old college sweatshirt and pajama bottoms.  If you have nothing better to wear then put on a robe, do not go naked as you might scar your flabby body in the cooking process.  Chop green pepper and onion, place in a large bowl with mushrooms.  Mix together juice of one lime, one clove of garlic, a teaspoon of cumin, and a teaspoon of chili powder, and some pepper and pour over the vegetables - NOT on your face.  This is not an acid peel, although lord knows you could use one.  Let sit for a few minutes while you SHOULD be doing some sit ups, but instead are chopping cabbage and mango.  Pour some white vinegar over cabbage and mango, add a little salt.  Place one quarter cup black beans in a small pot with juice of half an orange, let simmer to heat.  Spray a skillet with cooking spray (duh) and toss in marinated veggies.  Cook about ten minutes, then warm the tortilla either in the microwave, in a pan, or under your fat ass, then fill it with the vegetables, black beans, and coleslaw.  Add light sour cream only if absolutely necessary.  Weight Watchers PointsPlus value 3 as far as I can tell.

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