I'm Nothing Like French Woman

Today is Sunday.
Since childhood, I have frequently suffered from Sunday Afternoon Ennui which was probably caused by having to sit up & eat Roast Pork for Sunday lunch as a child when I had been told that it really wasn't pork which I thought tasted weird, but a New variation of meat called "chicken-pork".
My parents' ability to creatively bend the truth when it suited them was kind of adorable in a traumatising way.
While we ate, the TV was on. From memory, it was usually something excruciating like Celebrity Golf Tournaments.
By now you're probably thinking what an appalling Dickensian Childhood I had.
And I don't blame you for thinking that.

But Today was nothing like those long ago Sundays. I did not eat any Pig Products, although I briefly toyed with the idea of frying some bacon.
And the TV was silent.
But for some strange reason, I did experience a tiny soupçon of Ennui. OMG, I do love it when I spontaneously break out into Franglais, something I haven't done for ages!
Perhaps it is because I was reading in the paper today about Mirielle Guilano,the author of the popular book, French Women Don't Get Fat.
Sadly, I can't exactly remember what I was reading about her. But I do know that she says that French women don't get fat.
Apparently it's rude in France to have more than a sliver of cheese from a platter. And then they wear flat shoes which means they can walk everywhere or perhaps cycle & shop everyday for food which they have to lug up six flights of wrought iron Art Nouveau stairs to reach their bijou apartments to cook in their quaint kitchens. It sounds so adorable, I feel I've been transported inside the film Amelie!
I'm nothing like a French woman, although I do prefer flats but I can't cycle & my Art Deco apartment building has a lift installed.
And, quelle horreur, call me a Madwoman, but I do have a fondness for dieting.
After at least four months, maybe more , I'm still doing two days a week intermittent fasting.
Mondays & Wednesdays.
Whilst my colleagues happily spend their days shovelling in delicate pig tartlets & massive brownies, I nibble on julienned carrots & celery sticks.
Has it worked? you may be asking.
I must admit that I ask myself the same question.
Truth be told, I can't really tell. Some months ago, I banished the bathroom scales to a far distant shelf in a cupboard where they are waiting to be thrown out. So, I'm forced to scrutinise my silhouette at regular intervals to inspect for signs of shrinkage.
It's like my friend Marge who eliminated caffeine, sugar & alcohol from her life as part of an Ayervedic diet & instead ate loads of ghee & almond butter. At the end of three months, she wasn't sure what it did.

I've just realised, the Ennui has gone.
Thank you Della.