Those with twisted minds are detestable to the Lord, but those with blameless conduct are His delight.  Proverbs 11:20

I want to thank everyone who has pulled me aside recently and explained how much they enjoyed or connected with my short story about Mrs. Delinski.  I had been suffering from writer’s block.  It was nice just to freely write a piece.

My personal account of the scene where Mrs. Delinski covered her tracks by driving to a convenient store to dump her binge evidence, is so alike her’s.  I mean I have dumped my evidence before.  It is covering up the secret so no one will know.  It is a shameful act but I am finding out the more I research or talk to people, secrets play with our minds and we find ourselves twisting the truth in order to save face.

Those with twisted minds are detestable to the Lord…….

Twisted minds.  Ahem…..  Look at it from the perspective of hiding a secret.  Lies are told.  Truths are bent.  And right from wrong is all distorted.  We will go to great lengths to convince ourselves or others that nothing is wrong or that we would not do such a thing.  I’m gonna be honest here…..  I have purchased candy and then “had to get gas” so that I could trash the wrapper…… or wrappers.  How about when a cheating spouse doesn’t come home on time?  We’ve seen it in so many movies.  Had to work late……  Got called away on business…… a bold faced lie or two.  I’ve even been in a relationship with someone who distorted a Bible verse just to get a certain behavior or reaction from me.

Twisted…..  Twisted truths…… Twisted actions…… are detestable to the Lord.

So hey, there is hope.  See God likes the honesty and integrity of a blameless person.  And once you practice the truth…. the real truth…… it is amazing how freeing it is.  I mean when I used to cover my tracks like Mrs. Delinski, I was only fooling myself.  I mean come on….. like no one noticed me packing on the pounds. Twisted minds are always found out.  It becomes a never ending cycle of lies just to keep a secret.  And if you are anything like me….. I forget what I told or how it was explained.  Shining a light on the whole secret.

If we practice honesty and integrity, there is nothing to worry about.  In fact, when my accountability partner confesses, I call it “punching Satan in the face.”  If you are caught doing something, just tell the truth.  The Lord would rather you tell the truth and pay the consequences than twist the truth for personal benefit.

Secrets kill relationships.  It is plain and simple.  If we are honest, we can repair them.  If we live the integrity, then relationships are strong and healthy.  And when we do, we delight the Lord.  And when we delight God, blessings are given……

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‘Jesus was there.  Dressed in white.  He said, ‘You are going to die.’ I thought he meant right then but he simply said, ‘Don’t drink anymore.’  And with that, he got out of the cab and closed the door.’

My grandfather’s face spoke the truth.  His eyes were always bright when he told the story.  Every time, he ended by pointing upward and saying, ‘When Jesus tells you to do something, you do it.  I haven’t had a drink since that day.’

It has been a year and six months since I drove off the road trying to end my life.  I remember the air bag making it hard to breath and the sizzle sound of steam from the radiator.  The heaviness of my life caved inward.  The passenger door opened wide.  In climbed a man dressed in white.  His face expressed concern.  He closed the door and looked at me.

Words of great love poured out.  He gazed at me with his angelic face.  ’You are going to die…..’  The weight of those words mixed with all the heartbreak and sorrow from the day. ‘Stop the gorging.  You don’t need food.  You need me.’

I closed my eyes.  The pain shot through my body.  Tears swelled and I whispered, ‘Yes, Jesus.’ Then everything went dark when I heard the door slam shut.

I woke up in the stark hospital room a week later.  I knew what I had to do.  As soon as I was strong enough to go home.  I asked my doctor to help me.  I didn’t know where to begin but I knew I was going to die if I didn’t stop binge eating.

My doctor gave me the number of Overeaters Anonymous.  I held onto the number like my life depended on it.  I came.  I sat. And I learned.  I fought the urges and the binge’s sweet sounding voice.  I struggled with the whole changing my eating habits.  Carrots never satisfied me like a burger; but, I pushed through.  I found satisfaction in Christ.  I handed Him my life, my addictions and all that crap that I told myself.

Through OA, I found ways to cope.  I built a support group that understood me and my addiction.  They held me up.  They pulled me up when I fell away from eating right.  They spoke stern loving words when I called frantic that I might binge.  They had a way of talking me down and away from the kitchen.  They encouraged me when I enrolled in my first aerobics class.  OA taught me that with Christ anything is possible.  They applauded when every pound fell off the scale.  And most of all they showed me how to love by loving me.

The judge granted Derrick primary custody.  I lost my house.  But, on the day I drove off the road, I gained my life back.  They always say that from rock bottom you can only go up.

I am living proof.  I am Priscilla Delinski.  I am a binge eater.  And today I celebrate, 150 pounds lost.”

Cheers fills the room when I step away from the podium.  I am the new me.   Grandfather was right.  When Jesus tells you to do something, you do it.

the end

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Poor Mrs. Delinski……. enjoy today’s segment of the short story……

It’s been well over a year since the doctor’s visit.  The label that pushed me to eat more still haunts me.  The phasing into 3 more larger sizes was easier and justifiable.  I eat more, shop more and sleep less.  Job hunting implies I’m over-qualified, too old, or morbidly obese.  The savings account ran dry a month ago.  Credit card bills stack higher unpaid and unopened.  The house payment is four months behind.  I’m trying to keep my head up and on straight.  The only silver lining comes from Derrick taking the kids for the summer.  But that also means the only income I have is the child support and since he has the kids, I have nothing.

Today, I came home from a shopping spree, another $150 worth of food and clothes, to find the foreclosure notice on the door.  I have 30 days to pay up or get out.  In 30 days, I am homeless. Reality just pimp slaps me hard as I make my way into the house.  I drop the bags and to my knees.  Tears swell and spill. My heart shatters.  My life crumbles.  And all I want to do is eat.

The familiar and safe binge rushes to my side.  Kneeling, crying, and feeling desperate, I answer the binge and eat.  I tear open the food right there in the doorway.  Sobbing through the chips, cookies and soda.  Eat this, you’ll feel better. The darkness of the binge speaks to me and I answer.  Where’s the chocolate chip cookies?   A sinking feeling stabs me in the pit of my stomach.  I push through the empty bags of chips, cracker boxes, candy wrappers and find nothing more.  Tearing open the next grocery bag, I find the cookies.  My hands shake as I pull open the package.   I shove them in by the handfuls.  Once the last one passes through my lips, I fall backward and lay down.  I curl my knees upward trying to find comfort.  I pull the trash into my arms and hug with dark despair.

McDonalds…….  I want a burger and fries.  I climb up off the floor grab my purse and keys.  I purposefully don’t look back.  I don’t want to know.  I don’t want to see the mess.  I just want a burger.  Go get a Big Mac, you’ll feel better.  We will figure something out.  Go Eat.  Like a slave, I bow to the command.  I get in the car and pull out the drive.  I realize I left my cell phone in the car when I rushed to the life changing paper tacked to the door.  I grab it from the cup holder and see I have a voice mail.  It’s from Derrick and it can wait.  I’m on a mission to get a fix so I can think clearly.

I pull up to the drive thru and order my usual:  two Big Mac Combos, Super sized, both with cokes and two cheese burger Happy Meals, both with apple slices and chocolate milk.  As I ease up in line, I rehearse my usual lines.  Prepping for a good performance, I want the pimply faced teen to think I am the best mother and wife.  I pull up the professional looking messenger bag from the front floor board.  I place my purse next to it.  I make sure the toys are visible.  I keep the props in the car at all times.  I am a hard working mom…… tired from a long day at the office……  I have two kids and a husband waiting for dinner at home……  I rehearse.  My sad attempt to convince myself that I have a normal life.

I creep up to the window.  The young thing doesn’t suspect a thing.  We exchange a smile.  He hands me my bags and I hand him my credit card.  With a swipe and a “have a nice day” I bow in my mind.  I once again pulled off the whole charade.  My phone vibrates in the cup holder.  I look at the tiny screen as I find an empty parking slot in the McDonald’s lot.  That’s strange…. why would my lawyer be calling????

“Hello.”

“Mrs. Delinski?  Hi.  Steve here.”

“Hey Steve.  Did I miss an appointment or something?”

“No…..”  he pauses and clears his throat.

“Mrs. Delinski, there has been a new development.”

“O….. Kay?”  my stomach jumps.

“We need to talk. Can you come by the office?”

“Look Steve, I have had a pretty rough day.  I just want to go home and collapse.”

“I understand…..”

“Just tell me and add this call to my bill.”  I don’t want him to see me.  I’ll have Big Mac breath.

“Ahem….  Mr.  Delinski is filing for full custody.  He claims you are unfit, unhealthy, and incapable of caring for the kids…..”

My heart stops beating.  My eyes shift back and forth in bewilderment.  Unfit?  Unhealthy?  Incapable?

I hung up.

I’ll claim “dead zone.”  My hand reaches into the bag.  The steamy burger feels comforting.  The days events unwrap the burger.  Unfit?  I bite.  Unhealthy? Incapable?  I am a hard working mother….. My character’s lines form in my head.  I lost my husband…… my income…… my house……now my kids…….. I don’t know how to rehearse for this……

I drive away eating away the bad news.  My phone vibrates again.  I ignore it.  What am I going to do?  When the last fry is consumed, my focus falls onto the problems at hand.  I have no food to take my mind off of it.  I decide not to go home.  I need to take a drive and clear my mind.

I am an unfit wife.  I am an unfit mother.  Morbidly obese.  Unhealthy.  I am a fat ugly unhealthy mess.  I bought a size 30 today.  My stomach turns.  Incapable of finding a job, keeping a husband satisfied, and now….. incapable of being a mother….. I hate him.  I hate him!  I HATE HIM!!!!!  My heart breaks.  I want to hate him but what he says is true.  Tears stream down my face. I can’t do anything right.  I can’t find a job.  I’m too ugly.  Who wants to hire someone looking like me?  Without a job, I can’t have a home.  No home.  No husband.  No kids.  I am a failure. He is right.  The kids are better off without me.  The sorted truth sours my stomach.  I have nothing.  I am nothing.  I hate myself.  My hands tighten around the steering wheel.  The more my thoughts race the faster my car races down the road.

I need to just die.  I can’t fight this anyway.  I have no money.  I can’t pay for court.  I can’t pay for food. No clothes for the kids.  Nothing.  I just need to die.  The world hates me so I just need to get out of it.  I have no fight nor the will to live anymore.  I should just die.

I speed up and drive off the road, on purpose.

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Hope you get a better understanding of binge eating and the unconscious behavior that goes along with it as you read today’s fictional segment of the short story…….

I step into the kitchen.  My heart screams, “Don’t!”  My actions do just the opposite.  I gather up the strength to pause at the refrigerator door.  There’s yogurt…. left over pancakes….. I move the milk and juice cartons like the red sea.  No nothing there I want……. I lean down to the next shelf.  Let’s see there’s cheese…… lunchmeat…….. pepperoni…… Then I gander down to the next shelf.  Ahhhh there we go Duncan Hines Vanilla Frosting……

I pull the prize out.  Open the lid to check for mold.  Yep…. I’m gonna have some frosting…..  I walk over to the flatware drawer and get a spoon.  Oh, you know what would be good…… peanut butter……..  I go to the pantry and grab the jar.  I mix the peanut butter into the frosting can.  Wait, I think there is some Hershey’s Chocolate Syrup….. I return to the fridge for the syrup.  I pour the chocolate covering the sweet concoction.  I stir and take a bite.

Happy with the taste, I go back into the living room and sit down.  There’s a skinny young gal discussing the benefits of a vegan lifestyle.  I change the channel and find a soap opera.  I eat the first two bites.  I savor over the chocolaty, peanutty, frosting by letting it melt on my tongue.

Like flipping the light switch, my mind shuts off.  I mechanically spoon the frosting into my mouth.  Without coming up for air, my mind numbing shoveling ends and I never take my eyes off the TV.  I am unaware of what is being said.  I just watch the motions of the bad acting.  I lick the spoon, drop it into the empty can, and head back to the kitchen.

I instinctively reach into the fridge.  I grab a yogurt and return to the couch.  With robotic precision, I scoop the yogurt in my mouth until it is gone.  With my spoon in one hand, I drop the empty container in the trash.  Once again, I am at the door of the fridge.  I pull out lunchmeat and cheese.  Taking handfuls, I walk back into the living room and cram them in my mouth.

No taste.  No satisfaction.

I lick the salty juices from my fingers and go back into the kitchen.  One by one, I devour pepperoni, the pancakes, and a jar of pickles without emotion….without a single feeling.  I immediately go to the pantry.  I pull out the peanut butter jar.  I grab a spoon and return to the couch.  I bet there is chocolate chips…….  I jump up and pilfer through the cabinet.  Yes!  Score!  I pour the chips into the peanut butter jar and spoon with my robotic arm.

I feel the Holy Spirit nudge.  I swallow hard and with rebellion.  My unconsciousness is not ready to end.  I consume.  Once the peanut butter and chips are gone, I go back to the pantry.  I find a bag of pretzels.  I snack.  There’s a package of cookies.  I pig out.  I move only from the couch to the kitchen.  I never think.  My mind is turned off.  No emotions do I feel.  I just eat like some cold robot.

After 45 minutes of continuous gorging, my consciousness returns.  Thirst is the first real feeling I’ve experienced since I got home.  I look around at the empty bags, wrappers, and jars littering the coffee table and kitchen counter.  Disappointment sweeps over me.  The weight of the binge feels like a ton.  Oh, God….. What have I done?  

I check the clock.  I have just a few minutes to clean up the mess, dump it in the garbage can, and head off to the school.  As I pick up the potato chip bag, I realize I just stuffed myself with the kids’ lunches for the next week.  The lunchmeat and cheese come to mind. No sandwich fixings…… Then the peanut butter pops in my head.  I can’t make them peanut butter sandwiches now…..   One by one the various foods that were supposed to be for the family meals take their turn in showing me what I just did.  Guilt crawls up from the pit of my stomach and strangles me.  That’s a new low….. taking my kids’ lunches away from them.

I tie up the garbage bag, grab my purse, and dash out the door.  I throw the evidence in the can.  I jump in the car and put it in reverse.  I think I will take the kids to Kum N Go for a milkshake today.  I’m really thirsty……

I drive away like nothing happened.

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Mrs. Delinski has a dirty secret…..

Morbidly Obese

Those words hurt.  I can’t believe the doctor thinks I’m Morbidly Obese.  That describes The Biggest Loser contestants, not me…..  I may get a little winded walking up a flight of stairs but I am active….. Morbidly Obese??  The truth is in those two words.

I get home.  I have a couple of hours before picking up the kids.  The label swims in my mind.  I make the quick decision not to mention this to anyone.  No one needs to know, plain and simple.

I throw my purse and keys on the table, flip through the mail, and just sigh.  The heavy sigh holds the weight of today’s appointment.  Maybe, I am obese….. Just thinking that brings tears to my eyes.

No wonder Derrick left me……. How can anyone love the morbidly obese?  The kids…… Do they see me as some ugly slob?  No….. they love me…… 

I shake my head hoping to shake the thoughts away like the scribbles on an Etch A Sketch.  I want to eat.  I try to push the urge to eat down deep.

I go into the living room and turn on the TV.  There….. I will see what is happening on the Create Channel.  I sit down on the couch and concentrate on the screen.

I think I’m hungry.  Yep, my stomach just growled….. Man, I’m hungry…….

The convincing of hunger begins.  I am not at all hungry.  I am about to indulge in a daily practice that is a dirty secret.  It is starting and I don’t have the power within me to stop it.

Hmmmm what do I want to eat?  The contents of the refrigerator and pantry list in my mind.  What do I want??  No, I don’t want this…… I don’t want to do this…….  The struggle of right and wrong grows stronger and more evident.  The label “Morbidly Obese” flashes in my mind.  I can’t do this………

I know the right thing to do is to pray.  Pray the urge away.  I get down on my knees and plea with God to take feeling away. The answer comes quickly.  I need to get out of the house before it is too late.  Before I begin to consume my new label.

I get up but the weight of the day pulls me back down on the couch.  I feel a little stronger and the flight feeling slips away.  I can wait it out…… they say in 10 minutes urges fade away…..

Five minutes pass, 10 minutes creep by, and now I can enjoy the show.  My stomach is growling…… I’m hungry….. I better eat a little something before I leave for school….  I don’t want to be hungry when the kids ask for a snack……I will be stronger if I am not hungry……

And with that, I get up and head for the kitchen.

***

My dear family and friends,

Please understand this character is fictional.  I know it reads as if I am telling the story.  In some ways, the character struggles with overeating just as I have.  Today’s passage is based on the battle a binge eater faces each day.

Since November, my binging war has been slowly conquered one battle at a time.  Yes, I still have days when I am plagued with the thoughts that trigger the binge.  And sometimes, it overcomes and I find myself powerless.   I don’t want to live under the ugliness of this addiction.

And, I ask that you keep in mind that this portrayal is fictional.  Mark and I are still together.  My blood pressure is fine.  No need to worry.

However, I will never be free of my addiction.  I am just like an alcoholic or a former drug addict.  It takes one day at a time and the grace of God to carry on without the binge.

After tomorrow, I hope you will understand binge eating as Mrs. Delinski consumes her new label.

God Bless…..

Regina

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Oh, the dread….. enjoy today’s segment of the short story.

Like every year, I drag myself to the doctor’s office.  It is a necessary evil in my mind.  I absolutely hate going.  And like most years, I cancel as many appointments until I receive the we-are-canceling-your-policy letter from my health insurance company.  I hate how insurance companies are in control of MY health…….. I am perfectly fine……

So I sit and wait for the perky nurse to open the door just to mispronounce my name.  Delinski….. Del as in “farmer in the dell”…… in…… ski as in water or snow ski not sky….. geezsh,  you would think no one has gone to elementary school……  Eventually, this long wait causes my blood pressure to rise.  It’s the aggravation responsible…… not my eating habits……. 

After reading (not flipping through) the stack of magazines, health pamphlets, and drug information sheets, the coveted door opens and the perky nurse steps out.  Everyone in the room looks up anxious and guessing who’s the lucky winner, Miss Perky looks down at the file in hand and boldly says, “Dealinsky.”  Really???  I’ve been coming here for 10 years…….It’s not worth correcting…….  I rise from my seat, aggravations and all, and step forward.

Over the years, I have learned that ignorance is bliss when it comes to the scales.  If I don’t see Miss Perky write down or move the scale upward, I am much more pleasant.  I always turn my back from those climbing numbers like an angry child not getting her way.  I chose not to know….. after all, it is MY choice……..

“Okay, Mrs. Dealinsky, if you would please stand on the scale.  You can remove your shoes if you want.”

I smile.  ”DEL-IN-SKI!!!! For God’s sake!!!” I scream in my head.  I  feel the blood pressure rising.

I step up on the scale, with my shoes on in defiance, and turn.  I even cross my arms just like a child.  I hear Miss Perky slide the scale up, pause, up some more, pause, up some more and then with her irritating perky sing-songy voice she says, “There we go!  Thank you, you can get down.”

Gladly…..  I watch her jot down the number.  Her face tells the story though.  Eyes slightly widen, a perky yet nervous smile, and a quick jot with the pen, states the obvious.  I can see the thought bubble forming over her head…..”Had a few more burgers this year”……..  She finishes and Miss Perky says, “Exam room 3, please.  The doctor will be in a minute.”

 Back to waiting…..  The longer I wait the higher the pressure needle climbs.  I glance at my phone for the time.  Yep, an hour…… I’ve wasted this hour….. I could be home right now cleaning out a closet…… Miss Perky comes in takes my temp and then the dreaded blood pressure.

“Oh my,”  she says, “Our pressure is up today.”

I don’t even ask the numbers.  I just smile.  Could’ve told you that was coming……..  She folds up the cuff, jots down my vitals, and bee-bobs right out the door.  I close my eyes and breathe deeply in hopes of bringing down my pressure.

The doctor comes in.  He reviews my chart.  And in five minutes, he sings the same song.

“I see you have gained some more weight.  Are you exercising?  You should be active, Mrs. Delinski.  Try walking at least 30 minutes a day until  you work up to more strenuous exercise.  Eat less carbohydrates.  Eat more protein.  Try just eating fruits and vegetables for a week at a time.  Drink more water.  Your pressure is up more this time……..”

I’ve heard it before, Doc…….. 

“I want to see you in 3 months.  If your pressure isn’t down or if you haven’t lost weight, we will have to discuss medication.”

I blink.  He’s never said those words to me before.

“I have some information on nutrition in my office.  I will get those for you.”

He leaves the room.  My chart lays on the counter.  My curiosity, or concern at the very least, gets the best of me.  I stand and sneak up on the chart as if it is going to bite.  Wonder how high the pressure is…… If they didn’t keep me waiting so long……… 

Then I see the worst of it all.  I couldn’t see any numbers past these two little bold print words scribbled on the top of the sheet next to my name.  Two words just punched the air right out of my sail.  The shock and horror made my knees weak and my fears a reality.  For I see……..

MORBIDLY OBESE

I swallow, take my seat and hold back the tears.

My God, what have I done to myself?

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And the short story continues…….

“Mom, am I ugly?”  I asked.

Mom sat next to me on the bed.  At 14, my whole world just seemed to be crashing inward.  My grades were pretty good.  I enjoyed school.  A good friend described me.  Although, I didn’t belong to either the greasers nor the socs.  Trust me, I analyzed the qualifications outlined in the novel, The Outsiders.  I defined “outsider”.  Friends with everyone and yet, I felt alone.

My very existence depended on her answer.  My identity hinged on her response.

I held Roy’s school picture in my hand.  His curly black hair, tan skin and the perfect fitted Levi 501’s made my heart flutter.  He gave me his picture right after school.  My heart flipped and my stomach joined in the celebration.  When the little wallet size portrait touched my hand, I could hardly contain myself.  He noticed me enough to hand me a picture.  My Cinderella’s perfect shoe fit moment swooned the moment.  Roy, my prince charming, knew I existed.

Roy lived down the street from me.  He came over my house practically every afternoon to play basketball with my brother.  He was just my brother’s friend until 7th grade.  He morphed into the heart stopping prince that I dreamed about at night. Every afternoon, I watched his every move from our porch swing.  I hid behind a book or a Tiger Beat magazine but my eyes never left his sight.

My best friend since first grade., Liz, and I shared the same attraction to Roy.  We both became weak at the knees at his sight.  She and I  shared every detail of every conversation with Roy.   Liz was cute and curvy.  She could turn a head or two with her infectious laugh and silliness.  Her mild manner matched mine.  But when it came to Roy, I held the coveted trump card of being his neighbor and seeing him on a daily basis outside of school.

Like every day,  Roy came over to us after lunch.  At first, he awkwardly talked to us.  He would ask if Frank was going to be home later for a game of hoops.  When he walked away, Liz teased me about how he always talked to me.  Yeah, he talked to me and my knees knocked every time.

It became clear the day he handed Liz and I school pictures that I loved Roy.  That picture went with me everywhere.  I would pull out my wallet just to look into his eyes.  And at night, I pulled it out of the plastic sleeve and traced his outline.  Behind my closed door, I talked to his picture.  I held it close to my heart to hug him goodnight.  He was my prince charming and I loved him.

Two days before the annual spring dance, Liz and I chatted away about that morning’s fist fight between two 8th graders while we waited for the bell to ring signifying the end of lunch.  Roy walked up and seemed nervous.   As Liz and I went over the details, he shifted from one foot to the other waiting for the conversation to die down so he could pose his daily Frank inquiry.

His unusual behavior had been outlined in the recent Seventeen magazine article. The moment I dreamed of every night was about to unfold.  He was going to ask me to the dance.  Frank teased me the other day because Roy asked him if Liz and I had plans to go.  Frank explained Roy’s purchase of two tickets and how he even convinced his mother to buy a corsage at Safeway.   He was about to ask the question.  My rehearsed answer laid at the tip of my tongue and anxiously awaited to spill out.

The first bell rang and we walked towards the building.  The thick crowd separated the three of us.  This was normal.  Like everyday,Liz and I would meet up at the lockers before heading to class together.  I closed my locker door just as she stepped up.  She beamed and was grinning from ear to ear.

“Michelle!”  she squealed with excitement, “Roy asked ME to the dance!!”

My heart stopped.  My stomach soured.  I swallowed and like any best friend, I said, “That’s wonderful!”

But it wasn’t wonderful.  She chattered on and on the rest of the afternoon about the way he asked.  She sighed with pure joy.  She insisted I come over that night to help pick out the dress she was to wear.  Thank God, my family never missed a Wednesday night service!  For once I was grateful to be forced to go.

It became clear that Liz, the pretty one, was Roy’s choice.  Liz always got the smiles from boys.  It wasn’t fair.  Roy was suppose to cash in on the neighbor trump card….. not to ask Liz to the dance.  Me, being ugly, was the only explanation to this heartbreak and betrayal of my best friend.

So when mom questioned why I came home crying, I had to know if it was true. Was I ugly?

Mom just sat there with her arms around me.  My sobs laced the question.   She said nothing.  She avoided answering the one vital question.  She only pulled me closer.  The answer held the reason why my third wheel status hung over my head.

“Now, Michelle…..” she gently patted my knee, “I think it is about time you stop feeling so sorry for yourself.  Not every girl has been asked to the dance.  You could go with, what’s that girl’s name who rides her bike to school…….”

Her avoidance answered my question.  The nonchalant approach soured my stomach.  It was true.  Plain and simple, I was ugly.  The good-intentional attempt to suggest going with an acquaintance proved what I knew all along.

She hugged me and stood up to leave the room.

“You will look back one day and realize that boys don’t really matter.  Concentrate on your grades.  Get into college and have a career.”

And with that, you’re-going-to-be-an-old-maid-so-you-better-have-a-

retirement-benefit-career pep talk, mom exited and closed my door.  Even my own mother couldn’t say I was pretty.  Mom’s are supposed to lie about these things.

I looked up from my perch on the bed and stared at myself in my dresser mirror.  I saw the ugliness staring back at me.  My straight stringy hair, freckles, and one eye bigger than the other image said it all.  I made up the lost brothers of Snow White’s clan of dwarfs:  pudgy, frumpy, and dumpy.

God, why did you make me so ugly?  Can you just answer that one question?

The tears flowed.  At this very moment, I had my social status, an ugly.

This scene has a bit of truth in it…… Just a bit!

The post The Question Never Answered appeared first on Reginadettra.com.

I hope you enjoyed the first segment of my short story…… Today’s is just as intriguing……

I do this often…… dumping the evidence.  It is as routine as my daily conspiring to eat.  It is a fail proof plan.  I purchase fast food, eat it and then trash the evidence.  The convenient store just down the road from the school proves perfect for dumping the criminal remains.  Let’s not forget those indulgences at home……So often, the remains of bags of chips, boxes of cereal, and tubs of ice cream can be found strategically placed between garbage bags in the can by the street.  Hidden from my unsuspecting husband and kids, my compulsive eating goes unnoticed.  Just like the convenient store, I can virtually dump without suspicion.  I am just the ordinary mom cleaning out her car.

In the turn lane, I spot Mandy, a friend from Sunday School, pumping gas near my dumping grounds.  Great…… a witness.  Instinctively, I shoot a look at the clock on the dashboard.  Fifteen minutes and the kids will be looking for the me in the carpool lane.  There is no time to create Plan B.  Time ticking away and the green arrow flashes, I pull my car up to the gas pump and put on my best game face.

I pull out my debit card from my wallet and climb out of the car.  Avoid eye contact….. Act casual…… Well, maybe act a little rushed and she may just take the hint that there just isn’t any time……. I slide the card, push the numbers, and like the perfect con-woman, I act like a frustrated mom trying to gas up and get to the school.  Mandy finishes pumping and walks toward the store’s door.  My chance to trash the evidence is at hand.  Quickly, I open the car door and grab the grease speckled bag, empty cups, and any other sorted trash in there that could be used as evidence against me.

“Hey girl!”

Mandy. She is more swift than I thought. And I am caught red-handed. I drop the trash into my seat and turn to face her.  I move my body to block her view.

“Why Mandy! I didn’t even see you!”  Perfect amount of cheerfulness……

“Can you believe this weather we’re having? I guess this is what they call an Indian summer.” she said so pleasantly.

“I know right.”  I smile impatiently.  Keep up the rushed performance…… She’ll get the hint……

“Hey did you hear about Cynthia?  Poor girl.  She never gets a break.”  she shakes her head and looks so concerned.

“No, I haven’t.  Something happen?”  I shift my weight and glance at the pump.  Come on Mandy I don’t have time for this…….

“Jim left her. Bless her heart.”  she places her hand over her heart with the most sickening I-am- a -concerned- fellow- Christian performance.  She is known for her up-to-the-minute gossiping reports.

“Oh man.  That’s horrible.”

I can hear the digital clock ticking away.  I have to get rid of this trash–fast!  Mandy glances at her watch.

“Oh my!  I gotta get out of here.  Misty and Chad will be wonderin’ where I’m at!” she cheerfully says with a hint of satisfaction from doing her busy body duty to gossip.

“Okay!  See you later, Mandy!”

And with that the pump shuts off and I wave her good-bye.  That was close…….

I spring into action.  I grab the trash and throw it into the garbage can next to the pump.  I finish the pumping routine within seconds and pull out of the station.

Routinely, I reach for the perfume bottle I keep in the glove box.  Spritz some on me and in the car.  I don’t want the kids knowing that there was fast food in the car.  I roll down the window like nothing has happened and pull into the carpool lane.

I just got away with murder.

Come back tomorrow to find out what happens next……

The post The Perfect Dump appeared first on Reginadettra.com.

Thought I would change things up…..

Funny how life turns out. For some life means seeking and fulfilling a purpose. And for others, well, it is just a matter of living out a day. Sometimes, I wonder though which path I am taking. For it seems like both fight to overtake the other.  Ironically, the bell for the next round is my alarm clock.  A new day–a new battle.

A new day….. now there’s a philosophical approach to life that sometimes gets the best of me. Some self-help books, my chosen path of therapy to explain why I am the way I am, say it is a clean slate in which a new direction and the avenue to a new way of living. I have my doubts because a new day usually ends up looking like the day before, the day before that, and even the day before. It doesn’t seem be the most effective tool for me to use.

I sigh that all familiar Now Look What You’ve Done release of shame, guilt and disgust. Before me sits two fast food burgers left over from the “family value meal” of four burgers cooked just the way I want and their sidekicks, golden french fries. Not to mention the four large drinks sweating with fear of being gulped down without a purposeful thought. Wow, what a way to go….. ending your existence merely being used for someone else’s sick obsession.

Well, there’s one for the books……. I glance over to the stack of self-help books next to me. Those books hold the promise of a better me, and yet, at this very moment the promise is hidden under the fast food wrappers of today’s excursion. Obviously, I need to unearth the guarantee of the solution to my eating habits.  Kinda hard to find help within unturned pages.

Yeah, right…….I glanced over to the bookshelf. The army of books to explain, to provide revelation, and to solve the many problems at hand, stood guarding the collected dust of neglect. Words read and forgotten. Strategies promised to success found failure or defeat by this unexplainable, incurable, overcoming desire to endlessly eat.

I reach over to the coffee table. I wrap my hand around the one thing that will make all this go away. Good, it’s still warm. The foil cringles under the gentle touch and the sweet satisfying aroma of fried beef dripping in grease fills the air. Nothing smells better than a burger…… I smile to the fact that my daily vegetable intake is surrounded by the shiny bun soaked in a buttery oil. Automatically, my free hand reaches down into the grease speckled paper bag to take ahold of just a few salty sidekicks. The bag filled with the four large orders that were previously dumped rests in the crook of my legs as I sit curled in my usual spot on the couch.

I bite into the burger, push it into my left cheek with my greedy tongue all the while I shove four salty pieces of the only other vegetable I want to consume. I literally take the phrase, burgers and fries, to heart. The methodical cramming of my eating continues until the burger wrapper is empty. I wad and toss it as if I, the queen, no longer need its services.

Another one down and one to go……. I wipe the grease off my hands and onto my hip covered in denim. I have always said, “When I no longer can get my legs underneath me as I curl up on the couch, that’s when I know I need to lose weight.” I smile to the satisfaction that my legs are under me. Yep, they are…… perhaps, I should consider adding a clause concerning the cutting off the circulation. I chuckle and reach for the last one standing. I unwrap, bite, and shove fries simultaneously until nothing left.

I glance at the clock. Calculating the time needed for the disposal of the evidence: wrappers, bags, cups and the lingering aroma of a fast food joint. In a moments time, I sweep up the remains of my splurge, cover the burger breath with a candy mint, and Fabreeze the room. I feel like the perfect crime has been covered up. With another quick glance around the room, I decide no one will know my secret and head out the door to pick up the kids from school.

I have just enough time to stop at the convenient store to dump the evidence before school lets out…….

 Please dear family and friends don’t fear.  This is a fictional story.  No need to be alarmed.

May God bless your day!!

The post The Family Meal Deal appeared first on Reginadettra.com.

Two generations sitting at the coffee shop patio.  Girlfriends.

One cord tying us together.

Each one of us different.  Each coming to the table with various experiences and backgrounds.

One cord though runs through each of our hearts.

One God-Man.

One Holy Spirit.

One perfect Love.

Each One binds together the strongest cord.

That One cord brought us together.

Paths crossed as we worship, study, and pray together.

Christ-following girlfriends of two generations.

When a heart is broken, our cord binds us closer together.

Us Titus women tell stories of experiences that marks us sometimes broken and yet Jesus healed.  Stories told to the next generation with hopes of giving strength and courage to stand strong along side God.

Past mistakes paves the way for the younger generation to understand that life is just one cycle and one roller coaster ride after another.  Sometimes making it hard to handle.  We search for unfound answers.

We come together to piece together answers that sometimes doesn’t make sense yet we draw comfort knowing we have each other.

Put girlfriends together, giggles start.

Our love for one another crosses over that apparent “What is a bluetooth–Wow, I didn’t know my phone could do that–Oh we call that something else in the 80′s” generational gap.  Tonight we are not mothers and daughters.  We are giggling girlfriends binding brokenness the only way we know how through stories and laughter.

2G’s….. two generations of giggling girlfriends.

2G’s with 1cord between them….. tying us together to live life out the best way we know how.  Titus women teaching yet learning so much from those much younger.

2G’s…..Praise God for the godly cord bringing us together.

The post 2G’s appeared first on Reginadettra.com.