At the beauty parlor in the middle of the afternoon.
Fluff, fluff. Squirt. Squirt.
The Stylist: “Well, what do you think?”
The Lady stares ahead and says in her head, “Go back to what you were saying about Kentucky Fried Chicken.”
The Stylist puts her final touches on The Lady’s hair. Fresh color. Fresh cut. Fresh fried chicken. That’s what The Stylist said she wanted for dinner. Fried chicken with coleslaw on the side.
I’m at that part of a raw-food fast where fried meat sounds ridiculous but interesting, like an old boyfriend that I would like to strut in front of, especially since my hair looks so good right now.
Truth is, I know more about fried chicken than I do about old boyfriends or raw food fasts. I’m about to go to a high school reunion where there is no romantic drama for me, and the last time I tried a raw food fast, I made it to 5 p.m. Then I went and ate, yes, chicken.
Surprise, surprise, surprise. I’ve made it to the end of day five of what is intended to be a 30-day fast. I’m shocked. I’m tempted to say, “You’re doing this!” But I try to save all that positive speak for my clients. My eyebrows are internally raised. I’m suspicious…of myself. I thought I would’ve bailed by now. I haven’t had fried chicken in a long time, and I haven’t had any cooked food (animal or otherwise) in five days. Not even butternut squash soup. I’ve discriminated between raw and roasted almonds. I’ve joked about Wheat Thins, but then I let it go. I thought the eggrolls my family ate tonight smelled delicious, but I ate salad, and I was happy.
Go back to the part where you thought you would’ve bailed by now.
I thought I would’ve bailed by now. Nope. Apples and peanut butter and spring mix and trail mix and avocados and peppers and soy protein smoothies with frozen blueberries. Juice with lettuce, cucumber, celery, and lemon and lime. Raw ginger cookies from Whole Foods.
Despite what I’ve read, despite what I’ve seen about people bouncing off walls with energy, nearly raising from the dead, I didn’t think that would be me. I thought I would be weakened and desperate, out hunting my own rotisserie chicken by now. I hesitated to blog about it (not just because I thought I would quit, but because I’m supposed to be blogging every day, and I bailed on that). Maybe tonight I was going to watch Project Runway and journal about how I should be blogging and how I should’ve stuck to that raw food fast. I have questioned if I had the energy for another big transformation into someone who actually does what she says she’s going to do, but here I am, blogging and drinking herbal tea. Not righteous, but a little impressed. Here I am feeling stronger, not weaker. Maybe strong enough to flip this dining room table over. Okay, so I’m stronger AND a little irritable.
Later that night. The Lady looks in her own mirror. She takes the Aveeno cleansing cream from the cabinet.
The Lady talking to herself (as usual): Stop looking at your hair and wash your face.
Pulling hair back into bun, she gets closer to the mirror.
The voice of The Stylist: “Well, what do you think?”
The Lady: My face. It’s glowing. I’m glowing.