Don’t be jealous, but the Weight Loss Fairy has visited my house. Her methods are brutal, but effective. It doesn’t matter what you ate for lunch, at 1 a.m. every last calorie you consumed will be given to her porcelain throne.
The fairy visited my daughter first, prompting a middle of the night laundry frenzy that made me grateful we owned a washing machine.
After a couple of hours with the fairy, my daughter had used up every bowl in the house. At 4 a.m., I stumbled into the kitchen and reached for the insert to the rice cooker.
“We should just wash a bowl,” my husband mumbled.
Exhaustion made me borderline delirious. “Huh?”
Each time we thought the fairy had finally left our daughter alone, my husband and I would climb into our bed and whisper “Going to sleep, take 13.” Then, “take 14,” then “take 15,” then finally, “Dear God, how will we survive this nightmare?”
When I woke up the next morning after a few fractured hours of sleep, I drove to QFC to stock up on Weight Loss Fairy essentials: ginger ale, soda crackers and Lysol. Cleaning and sanitizing ensued.
Not only does the Weight Loss Fairy spur you to a slimmer waistline, but she also encourages you to disinfect every surface in sight. Once your home has that aroma of hospital grade lemons you get lulled into believing the fairy has left you alone. Then — bam! The Weight Loss Fairy claims you as her new best friend.
I thought I was ready for her. I had my hair braided and a mug of water waiting to swish out my mouth. There was a clear path between my bed and bathroom. But no amount of advanced planning could prepare me for the force of this fairy’s power.
My head hit the bathmat and I moaned in agony.
“Are you OK?” my husband called from the doorway.
“Save yourself!” I cried. It was the last clear thought I had for hours. My mind was like a radio dial with the Weight Loss Fairy hitting the scan button over and over again. I couldn’t think straight. At some point, I woke up long enough to hear my husband having his own coaching session with the fairy in the downstairs bathroom. His suffering barely registered.
The kids’ alarm clocks went off at 6:30 a.m. for school. My daughter hadn’t thrown up in 48 hours and my son was still OK. I crawled out into the hallway and collapsed on the carpet. “You need to get yourselves ready for school,” I said. “I can’t help.” Then I told my daughter, “And you have to walk to third grade on your own this morning.”
“We’ll be OK,” my son said. “We can get our own breakfast.”
“And we’ll buy our lunch,” said my daughter.
“Good.” I curled up into the fetal position and squeezed my eyes shut.
Who knew? Apparently, the Weight Loss Fairy also had the power to make kids self-sufficient.
Jennifer Bardsley is author of the books “Genesis Girl” and “Damaged Goods.” Find her online on Instagram @the_ya_gal, on Twitter @jennbardsley or on Facebook as The YA Gal.
Not Grimm but grim: A weight loss fairy tale involving buckets