For some reason, my self-imposed Food Inc. Diet is not working!

I cook the bacon with my eggs for breakfast and then I sit down at the table, as usual. And when I am finished my food, I sop up the eggs with a piece of bread (whole wheat, of course), and THEN I remember that I am not suppose to eat anything that had a snout before it landed on my plate.

And then I think to myself, “the poor delicious thing”, as I wipe the corner of my mouth with a linen napkin.

Then I renew my vow to myself to never eat another thing that was breathing before I ate it.

And then I will go about my day, until it’s lunchtime, when I stop by my local sub place, to eat a nice long rib sub with so much onions that the man behind the counter asks me with certainty, “No date tonight, eh?”

And it is only after I finish my sub and sop up the last bit of BBQ sauce that dripped from the corner of my mouth, when I remember that I am not suppose to eat anything that could bat long eye lashes, until the cow comes home…and in a way Possums, they do.

And then I think to myself, “the poor delicious thing”, as I wipe the corner of my mouth with a paper napkin.

And then I will go about my day, until the evening, when I eat some baked honey garlic chicken, with a small side dish (mixed veggies, of course!) and I lick off the succulent bone until it turns white! I then remember that I am not suppose to eat anything that had to do with the wrangling of the cocks!

And then I think to myself, “the poor delicious thing”, as I wipe the corner of my mouth with a paper towel.

Possums, I wasn’t always like this. There was a time, albeit a long time ago, that I could not even think of yamming a piece of meat…unless it belong to a man.

But, of course!

I remember the time when I was way young. My family and I went on a trip to visit my dad’s parents in Jamaica. And because we didn’t go often, my Grandparents turned it into a huge event. They always threw a party a couple of days after our arrival. I would like to think that it had to do with the fact that all the neighbors wanted to wish us well. My parents would like to think that it had to do with the fact that my Grandmother got tired of being peppered with questions every five minutes by her nosy neighbors!

My Grandmother had an animal menagerie on her property. She knew that I would appreciate her animals. I was not a “nerd”, per se. I would like to consider myself, “scholastic”. I remember my brother, sister and I took a strong liking to these three little Billy goats that my Grandparents had in the pen. My Grandfather named each one of those Billy goats after us.

I felt special.

I felt loved.

I felt owned.

My brother, sister and I would break off pieces of shrub off the short trees nearby and feed them with it. And sometimes, my grandfather would give us a small bag of feeding and the little things would come right up close to the fence and eat right out of our hands. I guess, this is where I learnt how to deal with a man! Have something they crave and you will basically have them eating out of your hands!

Sometimes, I would visit the three Billy goats on my own when everyone was taking their afternoon naps and tell them little stories about Canada and such. I even tried to get my Granddaddy to take my yellow ribbons and tie little bows around their necks, in order to dress them up for the big house party my Grandmother was putting together.

He told me that they needed a different kind of “dressing” to get ready for the party….

Well, on the day of the party, there was the usual hustle and bustle. There were men there cooking up food in large Dutch pots made out of iron over make-shift stoves. The smell was amazing! I still remember it!  Since I was finished getting ready first, my mother gave me permission to go downstairs and get myself a freezie out of the freezer. Well, sure enough I skipped-to-the-loo down to the small house that contained the freezies and threw open the lid of the freezer.

Do you know something Possums?

Do you know how food gets on the table?

How it gets prepared?

How it gets cooked?

It is just not “magically delicious”. There is a process.

You see Possums, when I was real little; I never cared where the food came from. I never even spent time watching my mother put the food into the cart at the supermarket. I was too busy trying to fandangle some chocolate chip cookies into the cart before she saw it!

But, I digress.

Possums, looking back at me from the freezer, were all our namesakes! All staring back at me!  All with their tongues hanging out!

Possums, there were only their heads in the freezer! The rest of them, the men were cooking! All the stories, all the dreams, all the memories, I shared with them were gone. Gone and boiling in the cast iron pots in the bright Jamaican sun!

I screamed so hard that I passed out! Right in front of the freezer! Or, so they told me

Possums, it wasn’t my finest hour!

So, now you know why I need to find myself a new diet. As fond as I am of Billy goats, and all animals of Farmer Ted’s kingdom, they just taste so darn good!

One day, I was in my zebra patterned, Buddha-filled bathroom, when I gazed upon some old magazines sitting in my bamboo basket. Never you mind what I was doing in there, but I will tell you that I started to flip through a magazine when I came across a picture of Helen Mirren, vacationing in a bathing suit.

Possums.

Possums.

Possums.

She wasn’t even wearing a full bathing suit.

She wasn’t even wearing a tankini.

Not even a bathing suit with a freakin’ shawl tied around her waist!

The woman was wearing a bikini!

Hot damn!

The woman is like sixty-four years old!

I know what you’re thinking- how is this a Helen Mirren diet? Well, I tore out that picture of the woman and photocopied it and plastered it, not only on the front of my fridge, but on all the soft cheeses, bread and cold cuts in my fridge.

I don’t need the hope later on, Possums. I need it right now!

And it’s working.  Every time, I get a craving after dinner, I mosey on over to the fridge then…BAM! I see Miss Mirren’s long flat belly staring back at me, and then I do a u-turn. Every time, I notice that my sandwich is missing something extra, I pony on up to my refrigerator then…BAM! I see Miss Mirren’s luscious limbs waving back at me, and then I do a u-turn.

Possums, I am doing so many u-turns, that I one day a lover is going to catch me and give me a traffic violation in the middle of my kitchen! But, that’s okay; I have red furry handcuffs in my bedroom, if needed.