So - last night was unexpected. We went to the meeting of leaseholders of our flats, to be responsible neighbours and son on, yadda yadda yadda...d tells me it's our duty to be nice to people...
And when we came out, we stmbled, bleary and blinking and about thirty years older, across the road to pick her up some Pepsi for the night.
The Fountain Fish Bar - home of my previous secret behind-the-back dalliances with grease and carbohydration - glittered and winked at us, like a blinged-up hooker, only with more grease.
"Fish?" said d, suggesting a radical new dinner option.
I faced a somewhat surreal test of character. Fish and chips was the meal that caused me to slide originally off my wagon of self-discipline, when we arrived here in Merthyr. The idea back then was that it woudl be an Aristotelian experiment - your man Aristotle suggesting it was easy to entirely forego pleasures, or to overindulge in them, but to partake of them modestly and in proportion was the real test of the strong and balanced man...
Turns out he was dead right, cos I couldn't do it - after that first fish and chips, others followed - lunchtimes descending into a gluttonous, vinegar-soaked cavalcade of self-abuse (so to speak). That first fish and chips, offered by d like an apple to Adam, proved that back then, I wasn't as strong a man as I thought I was, and proved a gateway to my regaining of about three stone.
And no, I'm not laying a guit trip on my girl here - I took the challenge, hoping I would beat it, and failing spectacularly to master my own appetites and cravings.
"Fish," I agreed now, and we crossed the road.
So last night, I ate fish and chips.
It was alright.
Not "Oh my god, where have you been all my life" wonderful, not crave-inducing, not "I must have more of you and often" seductive.
Just alright.
Tomorrow, I don't think I'll feel the need to go back and have more. Whisper it softly, cos of course it's early days...but I may have beaten the Aritotelian challenge...sort of by accident. Let's see, shall we?
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