Table of Contents
Dieting Makes Cathy Crazy!
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Epilogue
Dieting Makes Cathy Crazy!
Diets can be really brutal!
Have you ever been on a diet that made you go CRAZY?? Sure you have! All that calorie counting is enough to drive anyone loco!
Let’s take Cathy Andrews for example. She’s a serial dieter. She believes that if one doesn’t work, the next one will.
We all know someone like Cathy. In fact, more than likely, you’re her friend. Heck you might even BE her!
But there’s more … She’s cynical, pedantic, neurotic and overall…just a bag of nuts. She’s got a terrible love life, eats the same thing every day, has an apartment she hates and a job that’s like watching paint dry.
She’s the kind of person who over-analyzes everything about herself and others but can’t see what’s right in front of her face.
So you can understand why, after a round of tests by her doctor, she DRAMATICALLY (and comically!) misunderstands her diagnosis and pretty much goes insane - and the results are absolutely hysterical!
She thinks she’s terminal! So, with the help of her best friend Zoe - Cathy finally starts to live!
And live she does!
Motorcycle riding, tattooed Italian bad-boy Angelo comes in to her life and he’s everything she’s been looking for and more.
She finally embraces love, life and friendship in ways she never did before…and the journey is nothing short of hilarious!
Oh…
Will a HUGE secret Angelo is hiding from Cathy change her perspective of things?
Find out what happens in this sexy new side-splitting romantic comedy!
Dieting makes Cathy Crazy!
Sally Redwood
Copyright © 2020 by Sally Redwood. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations or excerpts for review purposes.
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental.
Redwood, Sally. Dieting makes Cathy Crazy!
Chapter One
Finding a good shopping cart on a Saturday morning at the grocery store is harder than meeting a guy with a nice smile who can formulate complete sentences and doesn’t propose a threesome on the first date.
I try not to be so cynical. Scratch that. I fully embrace my cynicism. But I just can’t bring myself to settle for carts with wobbly wheels or sleazy men who insist on calling me sweetie because they’re dating so many other women, that they can’t be bothered with actual names.
I spot a shopping cart. It’s got something sticky on the bottom. Gross. But at least the wheels are operational. I cover up the unknown substance with a sheet of coupons for things I don’t need like baby wipes and fiber tablets.
The second I walk into the store, the sugary smells from the bakery make my stomach grumble. Cookies. Cakes. Bread. Oh, how I miss bread! I feel my waistline expanding just from the aroma.
I gave myself strict orders, so I’m sticking to the perimeter of the store. Fresh produce and poultry. I’m three and a half months into my New Year’s resolution and there’s no backing down now. I’m a serial dieter. If one doesn’t work, the next one will. I’m already a full dress size smaller, and I’ve succeeded at replacing emotional eating with random emotional outbursts.
I fill my cart with veggies and grab some chicken breasts off the shelf. Chicken has become such a staple in my diet, that I fear I may soon grow feathers. Maybe after I lose another dress size, I’ll spice things up with steak and salmon. Maybe.
I head to the checkout aisle with a sense of pride that brings a smile to my face. No chips. No candy. No soda. No wine. That’s the hardest thing to go without. I miss my glass of red wine at the end the day, but I’m willing to make that sacrifice for my dream body.
I spot the gorgeous celebrities on the magazines. I try not compare myself to them. I know they have personal trainers, chefs, plastic surgeons, and access to the best spas in the world. I also know that the source of their beauty has a lot to do with Photoshop. I doubt any of them look like that in real life, but still … I’m trying. I’ll get there eventually.
There’s a kid working the register. He looks no older than nineteen. His face is covered in acne. I feel bad for him, and I can relate more than he’ll ever know; my nickname in high school was pepperoni face.
I want to tell him not to worry, that it’ll get better. But that’s all a lie. Just like me, he’ll probably go from zits to crow’s feet. Thank goodness it only happens when I smile, but I’m still annoyed by those fan-like wrinkles that appear around my eyes.
My best friend, Zoe, says I should consider Botox if it bothers me that much. But at thirty-four, I feel like I’m too young for that. Am I? One woman I know started in her late 20s. Now, it’s anybody’s guess if she’s smiling, frowning, or constipated.
The kid looks up at me. It’s just past eleven o’clock, and I can tell he’s already had a long day. He speaks with all the enthusiasm of someone preparing for a colonoscopy.
“Did you find everything okay, ma’am?”
Ma’am? Ouch. Do I look that old today? I don’t have an ounce of makeup on and my hair is pulled back in a ponytail. I’m wearing my I-don’t-give-a-fuck sweats and my college t-shirt.
“Yeah, I found everything.”
He scans my food items one by one. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot a Hershey’s chocolate bar. It seems to call out to me. I swear, it’s saying my name. I blink hard and turn away. My willpower is hanging on by a thread—a candy-coated thread.
“Will that be all, ma’am?”
I nod, slowly. I summon all of my restraint to not reach for the chocolate that I’m so desperately craving. “That’s it.”
I pay for my groceries and head outside. When I had arrived, it was sunny, but now there are clouds overhead. I hustle with the cart across the lot. I’m determined to beat the storm. I can smell the rain coming in the air.
I’m in such a rush that the cart slips out of my hands and dings the side of my silver Honda Civic. My heart is beating fast as I anticipate the damage. I pull the cart back, like a doctor examining a patient before surgery. And there it is. An ugly dint, topped off with an even uglier scratch.
Damn! It’s probably too insignificant to claim on my insurance. But I don’t want to drive around like this. Everybody will be staring at it. Maybe that’s a slight exaggeration, but I won’t be able to stop thinking about it.
I load my groceries into the trunk and head home. I’m going the speed limit as countless cars zoom past me. A few even honk their horns. I could care less. I’m the safest driver I know, and that won’t change for these impatient assholes. I love it when the people who pass you end up stopping at the same traffic light. I just think to myself, see dumbass? Same place same time, you’re not getting anywhere faster than I am!
I pull into the driveway of my con
do. This place wasn’t my first choice. Not by a long shot. As a matter of fact, I searched for a whole year to find the perfect home.
My real estate agent took me all over the city and showed me everything in my price range. But I always found something wrong. Outdated appliances. Miniscule kitchens. Bathrooms with tiles from the ‘50s.
She reminded me that I could do some renovations on my own, but that was out of the question. I’m no visionary. Either I can see it, or I can’t. I didn’t have much imagination in childhood and it’s just about gone now.
One day, she brought me to this perfect condo on the outskirts of downtown. It was everything I had ever wanted in a place. I just knew it was the one. But I was too scared to act on impulse. I needed to sleep on it.
The next day, I woke up and asked her to put in a full-priced bid. Of course, it was too late. The seller had accepted another offer the day before.
What was the lesson I walked away with? Never hesitate, and just go for what I want? Hell no. I concluded that everything happens for a reason. I was sure that there was an even better place waiting for me.
After five more months of looking, I couldn’t have possibly been more wrong. Finally, I ended up buying one of those fixer-upper condos that I was so desperate to avoid. And whenever I drive by my dream home, I wonder what if?
I unlock the door to my place and put my groceries down on the kitchen counter. I’m tired and hungry but ordering takeout isn’t an option. That added butter and salt would be bad news. I’m determined to cook. I have to.
I’m running on fumes as I cut up vegetables. I haven’t even eaten breakfast today. I snack on a slice of green pepper. It doesn’t provide much energy. I close my eyes and think about the chocolate bar I left behind. Then, my phone ringing snaps me out of the trance.
I smile when I see Zoe’s name light up the screen. I put on my blue-tooth so I can be hands free to answer.
“Hey.”
“Hey, what are you up to?”
“Cooking.”
“Let me guess … chicken stir fry with brown rice?”
“I’m not nearly as predictable as you make me out to be.”
“Oh, please, I can smell it through the phone.”
I laugh.
“Okay. You got me.”
“Cathy, it wouldn’t kill you to mix it up a little bit. I’m making lasagna tonight. I’m using all organic ingredients, if that’s any consolation. There’s a plate with your name on it.”
“No thanks. I already have enough food to last me till next Saturday.”
“Geez. Are you really gonna eat that seven days in a row?”
“You know I’m results-oriented—and this is getting me results.”
“Yeah, but it’s not like you even needed to lose weight. You’re beautiful.”
“Of course you’re gonna say that. You’re my best friend. And if I’m so damn beautiful, why is it so hard for me to meet a decent guy?”
“You have a tendency to overcomplicate things.”
“Come on.”
“What about that guy … Ronny?”
“What about him?”
“He was handsome and sweet and hard working. He was really into you, and you just dropped him out of nowhere.”
“It wasn’t out of nowhere. We weren’t compatible.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Don’t you remember? He lied about his job for one thing.”
“Come on, who doesn’t fudge their resumé from time to time?”
“Zoe, the man told me he owned a restaurant, and he turned out to be the assistant manager at Burger City.”
“They have great fries there.”
I try not to smile.
“He didn’t even have a college degree. I’m not saying that a guy has to earn as much as I do, but at a minimum, I want him to be educated.”
“You think that education is confined to a college setting? How much education were we getting at all those frat parties … Might as well have gone to Beer Pong U.”
“So, you’re saying I should lower my standards?”
“That’s not what I’m saying at all. It’s just that you need to be a little more open-minded.”
“With that kind of thinking, I’m going to end up with some toothless loser in a trailer park somewhere. His idea of romance would be that he put on clean underwear!”
“You can be so extreme.”
I mimic a deep southern accent. “Honey, let me tell you, happiness comes when you least expect it. Me and Billy Bob are expecting baby number eight!”
“You never know, Billy Bob might seduce you with some dance moves and a six-pack of lite beer.”
“If I’m ever that desperate, please just shoot me.”
She laughs.
I put some olive oil in the pan and turn on the oven pilot. The blue flames make everything sizzle.
“Anyway, what are you up to today?”
“Just came back from my Bikram yoga class.”
“How was it?”
“Hot as hell, as usual.”
“What’s the temperature again?”
“104.”
“I don’t know how you manage it.”
“The human body can adapt to all types of conditions.”
“That’s debatable.”
“What are you doing next Friday?”
“Why?”
“There’s this new bar that’s opening downtown. One of the guys at the firm designed the interior. It’s amazing. You gotta see it. They’re having the grand opening. It’s actually called The Bar.”
“Sounds fun, but I’d better pass.”
“You got plans on Friday night? Oh really? What’s his name?”
“I wish. But I’m working from home on Saturday morning. I can’t stay out late you know.”
“When was the last time we had a girl’s night out?”
“A few months ago.”
“Going to the mall doesn’t count. I said night out.”
“I know it’s been forever, but I just can’t.”
“I get it. The whole company would fall apart without you.”
“Probably.”
“No, it wouldn’t. You work your ass off for them, Cathy. They have no right to eat in to your weekends.”
“It’s not like they asked. I volunteered.”
“What?”
“I don’t mind. It helps me to be more productive, so I can get a jump start on Mondays.”
“I know why you’re doing this … You’re too ashamed to admit you miss Ronny.”
“Ronny has nothing to do with it.”
“Well, what the hell is it then?”
“Is there a problem with working hard?”
“There’s no problem with that at all, but when you combine it with eating the same meals every day and never going out with your bestie, then that’s a big problem.”
“Come on, Zoe. You know me.”
“Yeah. I know you, but it wouldn’t hurt you to live a little. And I’m bringing you over some lasagna tomorrow. Do with it what you wish.”
“I really wish I could go with you to the bar, but I just can’t. Let’s rain check it. Maybe in a few weeks when I have a better handle on things we can check it out. Drinks on me. Okay?”
“They better be.”
“And please don’t bother to bring me any lasagna. I’m fine.”
“Cathy …”
“I gotta go before my food burns. Catch you later.”
I hang up the phone before Zoe can change my mind. I finish cooking the rest of my chicken stir fry, following an exact recipe from my dieting app. When the food is finished, I sit down and eat at the table.
I’m accustomed to dining alone. There’s a certain meditative solitude in that. But I do get lonely sometimes. Although I hate to admit it, I often wonder what Ronny’s up to.
But it’s not just about him. It’s about all of the guys I’ve dated. I just never seemed to find the right one, despite following a se
t of unspoken rules.
For example, if I meet a guy, and we exchange numbers, I always wait at least 48 hours to call him. I don’t want to seem too desperate. Nothing turns a man off faster than the scent of desperation.
I also believe in taking it slow when it comes to intimacy. No kissing on the first date. And I always wait a few weeks before sex, and I make sure it only happens if we’re monogamous.
I’ve never had a one night stand before. Not even in college. Zoe and the other girls teased that I was a prude. But I wasn’t and I’m still not. I just believe that there’s a structure and an order to everything. That’s always been important to me … in dating and all aspects of life.
Yes, I’m one of those people who never presses the snooze button on the alarm, and I make my bed every morning. I stop at all stop signs and when it comes to my heart, I always proceed with caution. I want to shield myself from heartbreak and drama.
One day, the right guy will come along. And even if he doesn’t, I’ll still be content being me. It’s been five months since I’ve been out on a date, and by some miracle, there’s still blood pulsing through my veins. I didn’t roll over and die because I’m single. And frankly, I’m tired of being treated like a leper.
I’m fine! Really, I’m fine just the way I am. And I’ve also come to accept that I might be like this forever. Forever. Okay, hopefully not forever. Damn, that sounds sad!
I wash my dishes, immediately. By the way, I never let them sit. I place my leftovers into individual plastic containers and pop them into the refrigerator.
That’s all the calories I’ll be eating for the week, I think with a smile. Now I hope that Zoe doesn’t stop by tomorrow with lasagna because I’m not sure if I’ll be able to resist it. Too much temptation throws me completely off balance.
I close the refrigerator door and glance over at my empty wine rack. It’s going to be a very long weekend without a little cabernet for comfort. I make my way over to my laptop. There’s nothing stopping me from getting a little work done.
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