To diet for

I’m on a diet.
I’ve never been on a diet before, because for the past decade, I have maintained my strapping weight of around 165.
So the diet is not a weight issue, but rather a sleepy issue. You see, for the last few weeks, every day after eating lunch I would get incredibly sleepy. Rip Van Winkle sleepy. Want to curl up under my desk like George Costanza sleepy.
Normally, to counter this, I would take a brisk walk around the office and tell everyone how tired I was. Perhaps my subconscious was driving that bus, and it was thinking that if I got hit in the head with a stapler from an annoyed co-worker, it would wake me up.
So one day at home, I was telling my wife how sleepy I kept getting after lunch each day. Her first suggestion was not so much a suggestion, but a lengthy discussion of how she operates on a mere 10-15 minutes of sleep each night, and still works and volunteers and takes care of the kids and if I would stop for two seconds and realize that sometimes – SOMETIMES – making the bed is the LAST thing on her mind and quite frankly, I could make it myself that morning.
About half-way through, she stopped and realized I was just talking about how it set in just after lunch, and was not waging a “Who’s More Tired?” contest.
She asked me what I was eating for lunch. I told her a handful of Ambien and a bottle of gin. She did not find that funny.
Most days, my lunch is something pretty standard, usually, a couple of sandwiches, some chips, a dessert and a milk. Same basic lunch I have been having since I first cut teeth.
“Well there’s your problem,” she said. Apparently, for three decades sandwiches and chips and Little Debbie peanut butter bars had been my friend, but had suddenly turned on me.
She began to lecture me on carbs and blood sugar and such, and made a less-than-kind face when I said, “So busy, yet you still had time to go get a medical degree?”
At that point, she conducted a doctoresque reflex test which showed I am still quick.
My wife, or Dr. Wife, as I guess I should call her henceforth, suggested I stop eating a couple of sandwiches and the dessert each day, and opt for more protein. The blank stare I gave her led her to say, “Just meat. No bread.”
Immediately, I saw what she was doing. “You’re trying to put me on the Atkins Diet!”
Although I have never been on a diet, I can certainly tell you that I am not a big fan of diet crazes. I am sure some have their merits and such, but the big problem I have – in particular with the Atkins – is the major side effect is creates, which is an inability to go four seconds without telling someone you’re on the Atkins Diet. While some of you out there may have quite fine upstanding low-carb dieting folks, several of your fellow dieters ruined it for you by constantly making bullhorn proclamations, especially in restaurants: “Yeah, I’ll have the bacon burger with extra bacon, BUT HOLD THE BUN – ATKINS! Oh, and throw a pork chop and a wheel of cheddar on top.”
Sensing I was getting a little testy on the subject, my wife informed me that (a) the Atkins Diet was about as much of a craze these days as a Rubik’s Cube and (b) I should just give her suggestion a try. Take some meat, maybe some fruit, some cheeses, and see how I feel.
So the next day, I did as she advised. I had some steak left over from the night before, some onions I had cooked, a side of green beans, and a chunk of cheddar, which, quite frankly, should be served with every meal.
After lunch, I waited for my near-narcolepsy to kick in. And I waited. And I waited. And I waited. And sure enough, I stayed quite alert.
I called my wife and told her that I felt great, and that I would try it again the next day. She said, “Try some peanuts and an orange juice for a snack later.” I think she may just be messing with me, slowly building up how much she gets me today. After a couple of days, she’s going to say, “OK, around 11ish, you need to drink the blood from a baby sparrow, and eat your left thumb. Do it. Now.”
So the results seem to be working. I have actually enjoyed my lunches of late, particularly because I don’t have a desire to put my head down and nap in the cantaloupe halfway through. I guess as I get older, my metabolism is changing. To counter that, I suppose I will need to alter some of my dining habits. I hope I can still type without my thumb.