The Amazing Adventures of Dietgirl

by Shauna Reid

  SureSlim has also taught me that my body feels better with less processed food, so now I try to eat food that’s full of nutrition, rather than fretting about the calories. So my next challenge is to find a middle ground between the chocolate fiend and the nutrition nerd. I’ll just muddle along as best as I can in the midst of madness until we leave Australia. After 110 weeks, it’s rather daunting to be leading a scaleless existence.

  WEEK 111

  February 26

  First I conversed with the anesthetist.

  “I hear you’re going overseas.”

  “Yeah, but don’t think I haven’t noticed that huge needle.”

  “Are you taking a year out before university?”

  “No!”

  “Just finished your degree, then?”

  “No! I’ve been out for years!”

  “Oh! Well I hope you’ve got some sort of qualification, if you’re intending to unleash yourself on the world?”

  “I’ve got a degree, mate.” My vision grew cloudy. “Hey, did you really think I just finished high school? It’s the chubby face that makes me look young, isn’t it?”

  The next thing I remember was hearing my voice talking and it wouldn’t stop. It was saying a lot of stupid things. My brain was soggy and numb as it pleaded with my mouth, Would you please shut up?

  But the mouth wouldn’t comply. It was its own entity, completely detached from the body. I’d been put under intravenous sedation, as opposed to general anesthetic. So apparently you can’t feel a thing but you can get quite talkative when you come around.

  I faded back in just as the surgeon was winding up. I felt something tugging at my tooth, but there was no pain. I babbled away in a wounded monotone, trying to make him feel bad for attacking me, “Hey. Hey. Ow ow. Ow!”

  Then I chatted to a nurse.

  “You guys are lovely,” I slurred. “You are doing a lovely job. Really you are. You have all been so nice.”

  “Thank you, dear.”

  “I was so worried you wouldn’t be able to knock me out. I thought I’d be unknockoutable and feel everything!”

  “Well, we managed just fine.”

  “Yeah, but I’m a big girl. It can’t have been easy. You know, half the reason I’m trying to shrink is to avoid doctors?”

  Shut up! (That was my brain speaking.)

  “Is that so, love?”

  “I’ve lost 126 pounds, would you believe.”

  “That’s very impressive!”

  I launched into what I thought was an articulate and detailed outline of my diet and exercise regime and secrets of well-being, weight loss, and eternal happiness, but I’m sure it was actually a saliva-drenched numb-tongued blur. As they wheeled me out of the operating room my brain cringed because my mouth was still moving and there seemed no way to stop it.

  Half an hour later I was able to sit upright in a chair. I flashed a dopey smile as Rhiannon arrived to take me home, my mouth stuffed with cotton swabs.

  “This one’s a talker,” said the nurse. She handed Rhiannon my bloodied wisdom teeth in a jar. “She told us all her secrets.”

  “Ha ha!” I said. “Oh. Shit.”

  It’s now 5:00 A.M., two days later. I can’t sleep because my head is massively swollen like a mutant potato. I was hoping for a cute little chipmunk face, but instead I’m a slab with eyes, like those statues on Easter Island. My lips are numb too, so when I spoon gruel into my mouth, it slithers down my chin as if I’m a helpless baby. Somebody should just strap me into a highchair and make the airplane noises.

  I am hideous. Look away. Look awaaaayyyy! No hang on, fetch me some more drugs, then look away.

  WEEK 113

  March 10

  We’re now officially homeless. I felt sulky and betrayed as I watched the last relics of our cozy Canberran lives walk out the door with their new owners. My bed, the television, and the crappy coffee table we painstakingly stripped back and restored. And how one forms an emotional attachment to a microwave beats me.

  Finally, on Friday afternoon, Rhiannon and I dropped off the keys to the estate agent. We’ve now moved in with the Mothership.

  My eating has gone out the window. Now that I’m back on solids, I’m desperate to eat at my favorite Canberra restaurants one more time. Luckily, Rhiannon feels the same way, so we organized a dozen different farewell dinners with different groups of friends. We’ve had Thai, Vietnamese, Chinese, and Italian. I had my final potato wedges from Tilly’s, my last Gus Café chocolate shake, my last sausage roll from Cornucopia, my last pumpkin pesto pizza from Babar. The food is always delicious, the company sublime, and every meal ends in tears.

  With friends like these and food like that, why am I walking away?

  WEEK 114

  March 17

  I tell you, if one more person tells me how they gained so much weight while traveling overseas, I will punch them in the face. If I am to believe what I’m told, the streets of Edinburgh are paved with lard and it rains pure beer.

  All this saying goodbye has left me rather emotional and pathetic. Sue looked at the calendar today and said, “You’re leaving in a week!”

  “I don’t wanna go!” I croaked, and promptly burst into tears.

  This was the second incident of workplace bawling in six months. At least last time Poppy had just passed away so I had a decent excuse. But today poor Sue looked quite alarmed as I hiccuped away.

  Tens of thousands of Aussies go off to the UK every year; it’s a cultural institution! So why am I so afraid? It’s only two years. And we’re so lucky to be doing this, as everyone keeps reminding me. We’re on the cusp of a great adventure.

  But I feel like a fraud. None of this sounds like a very Shauna thing to do.

  WEEK 114.5

  March 22

  Tonight I drove back to Mum’s house in Goulburn in the middle of a thunderstorm. Lightning scribbled across the sky, illuminating random bursts of sheep and gum trees.

  It finally hit me as I rattled alongside the vast emptiness of Lake George. I’m leaving this beautiful country in four short days. I’m going to Scotland. I’m going to Europe. I’m going to see places I’ve only known from books. It’s terrifying—but holy shit, it’s exciting too!

  And then suddenly my thoughts turned to chocolate. It’s almost Easter. Should I buy one last Red Tulip Bunny? They’re not going to have Red Tulip chocolate in Scotland. What if I never get to bite off those creamy ears again? Oh, I’ll have to get one. Maybe just a baby one.

  WEEK 115

  March 28

  The first thing we did when we arrived in Frankfurt was phone Mum to let her know we hadn’t been shot down over Iraq. I tell you, George Bush had a lot of nerve starting a war two days before we left the country. And that SARS outbreak was most untimely too. As if the Mothership wasn’t worried enough about her children leaving the country!

  Rhiannon and I were the only ones not crying as we left Canberra airport. Our friends were tearful and Mum was sobbing, but even as I hugged everyone for the seventy-fifth time, I couldn’t quite comprehend that I wouldn’t be seeing them all again in a day or two.

  As the plane took off, Rhiannon squeezed my hand and grinned. Her eyes were wild and glistening, as though she’d just spent twenty years digging out of prison with a teaspoon and had finally tasted freedom.

  So now I realize just how far Australia is from the rest of the world. I managed to distract myself with Tetris from Sydney to Singapore, but I thought the fifteen-hour flight from Singapore to Frankfurt would never end. At least I had time to marvel at how easily I fit in the seat. I’d put the Fat Girl Logistics Department on high alert but I had plenty of room to spare.

  WEEK 116

  March 31

  We made it to Scotland!

  Edinburgh is stunning. It’s particularly beautiful at 6:00 A.M. We had the privilege of seeing it early, thanks to the snotty fuckwit in our hostel room. He was very polite and sweet in daylight, but when night fell he morphed int
o an evil flu-ridden snoring machine. It sounded like he was boiling a huge vat of snot in his nostrils, and another vat of putrid phlegm in his throat. His girlfriend was wide-awake in the bunk below, but did she once tell him to shut up? No! As his traveling companion, it was her duty to be on Snore Watch.

  We gave up on sleep and went for a walk up the Royal Mile, plotting their demise. But they were soon forgotten as we went past the crumbling passages and tacky tourist shops all the way up to Edinburgh Castle. You couldn’t find a greater contrast from the clean lines of Canberra.

  I swear the sunrise is a different color over here. In Australia it’s a riot of red and orange, here it’s gentle pinks and blue. We stood out in front of the castle and gawked down at the city, trying to drink it all in.

  Our first meal in Scotland was McDonald’s. We arrived late on Friday night and were too knackered to look beyond the familiar arches.

  “The Big Mac seems much smaller in Scotland,” said Rhiannon.

  “Do you think that means everyone will be less fat?”

  Since then we’ve been feasting from supermarkets. They’re big on ready-made sandwiches. They come in boxes or cellophane, many oozing with mayonnaise. How very curious. I’m used to the sandwich shops in Australia where they have all the ingredients in little dishes and you tell the sandwich wench exactly how you want it. Yes, I predict this will be about as profound as my cultural observations get.

  Today we each purchased a mobile phone in readiness for our job and shelter search. I added Rhiannon’s number to my phone book. She added mine to hers. And that was it.

  I felt slightly nauseous. Will we ever have other numbers in our phones? What if we don’t make friends? What if it’s just the two of us for the next two years? What if we can’t find a job? What if we can’t find somewhere to live? What if I have to slink back to Oz and live with the Mothership? Why did we come here?

  But my fears were temporarily soothed by the sight of a dozen kilted men walking down Princes Street. I thought this was standard procedure but it turned out they were rugby supporters on their way to a match. Still, all those pale hairy legs felt like a welcome mat.

  WEEK 117

  April 7

  I’ve become even more besotted with this country. In between job interviews, Rhiannon and I did three different bus tours this week. The tour guides point out the sights in a monotone, struggling to disguise their boredom, but I’m too enthralled to care. We’ve seen castles and mountains and Highland cows with hair more violently ginger than mine. We’ve seen Glencoe and the Wallace Monument and the bonny banks of Loch Lomond. We did not see a monster in Loch Ness. There’s something so wild and raw about the landscape I could just hump the heather-clad hills in ecstasy. And I can’t believe how much of Scotland you can see in a day! In Australia you can drive for a week without seeing a change of scenery.

  Every tour ends with the bus pootling back over the Firth of Forth, and by the third tour Rhiannon and I would chant in unison with the guide, “On your left is the Forth Rail Bridge, which was the greatest feat of Victorian engineering.”

  It’s so bloody great to be here.

  WEEK 118

  April 14

  The romantic part of me thought living in a shared house in the UK would be a bit like an episode of This Life. I would do a lot of shagging, drink lots of wine, and perhaps snort some illicit substances. Or at the very least I’d scamper around in my sexy bathrobe and scoff cake at midnight by the light of the refrigerator, Nigella Lawson style.

  But it isn’t quite turning out that way. For a start my bathrobe is pink and hideously fluffy. It was a size 22 but it was on sale. I look ridiculous in it, especially when it’s combined with my purple slippers with the sequined love hearts, also on sale. We are on a tight budget now, so I am a vision of frumpiness. I look like the lost Jedi Knight, Porky-Wan Bath-robi.

  There are seven women living in our house. Luckily there are two bathrooms, but there is just the one tiny fridge. My flatmates seem to live on tinned soup, diet yogurt, and ready-to-eat lasagna from Sainsbury’s, with barely a vegetable in sight. Instead the fridge is crammed with condiments. I’ve never seen such an impressive assembly of relishes and mayonnaise. Then there’s the Jams Throughout the Ages, topped with bursts of mold. We managed to carve out a third of a shelf for our own food, but I think the Glaswegian Chick’s radioactive cheddar has plans to invade.

  Amazingly, we found a place to live on our second day in Edinburgh. We saw an advert in the Evening News and the cheery landlord invited us around immediately. It’s a lovely Victorian flat in Bruntsfield, close to the center of town. There’s a constant pungent stench of yeast in the air, thanks to the nearby Fountain Brewery. It makes me think of Vegemite and home.

  The landlord leased us each a room right on the spot, no reference checks required! We moved in on Wednesday. My room looks rather sad, just a bed and a suitcase and a mobile phone, but it’s my own wee space here in Scotland.

  Already we’re trying to establish new customs. Rhiannon and I are like small children or dogs: we’re best behaved when we have a routine. We made a weekly meal list just like we’d do in Australia and headed off to Tesco.

  The plan was abandoned as soon as we hit the aisles. The supermarket proved more thrilling than all those castles put together! We spent two hours cooing over the foreign brands and products and packaging and sights and smells. And all the funny names! Courgettes instead of zucchinis; peppers instead of capsicum.

  The fruit and veggies are a bit odd. Many of them are wrapped in plastic and come from faraway countries. Peruvian kiwi fruit, Italian tomatoes, South African butternut pumpkin! (Or butternut squash, to use the local lingo.) It makes everything seem exotic, if environmentally troublesome.

  Our next mission was to find a gym. There’s a huge one ten minutes’ walk from our house; I’ll call it Fancy Gym. The saleswoman gave us the grand tour, and we were dazzled by the vast bank of cardio machines, the sauna, the pool, the bar, the plush leather chairs, the ambient lighting, and the spectacular class timetable. But then she revealed the monthly fee—£55! That’s like 130 Australian dollars. It’s more than double what we paid back there. She said she’d waive the joining fee, but we still can’t afford it. Especially since we don’t have jobs yet.

  It was so depressing that we stopped for British Mars Bars on the way home. They seem to taste different from the Aussie ones. How will I survive without a gym? I feel my fat coming back already.

  WEEK 119

  April 23

  Rhiannon and I are working as administrators for a company we’ve code-named Geriatric Rescue. They install alarms in the homes of elderly people and give them a pendant to wear, so if they have a fall or need help, they press a button on their pendant and it sends a call to Rescue Headquarters. What a great idea. They’ve just taken on about ten thousand new clients, so we have the thrilling task of adding them all to the database.

  I can’t believe I’m Secretary Girl again. If I’d known, I’d have packed my staple remover. But I’m not complaining; I’m just relieved to have a job after four weeks of fruitless searching. I’d naively hoped I’d waltz into a marketing-Internet-writer-geek job like I had in Australia, but I hadn’t done my research. Edinburgh is a financial town, so that’s where the jobs are. It makes me wish I’d got a proper career like teaching, nursing, or accountancy. They’re always in demand, unlike arts degree layabouts.

  So we’re stuck with temporary work. We dumbed down our résumés and signed up with half a dozen recruitment agencies. I felt the cobwebs settle over my qualifications as each agent asked, “Can you do Word and Excel?” After taking what seemed like a dozen different typing tests, they informed us the minimum hourly rate was £5.50. We’ll be earning far less than we did in Australia, in a country that is twice as expensive. Well, they did say travel was character-building.

  At least Rhi is working with me. We’re going batty together. We spend our days in a tiny attic office, typing in
medical details. It gets rather depressing, seeing all this information about people in their twilight years. Some of them are really in a bad way. I wonder if they’re happy, if they’re alone in their house watching Emmerdale, or if they’ve got enough legs to pop out to the bingo. I type in their contact details and wonder who’ll be my contacts when I’m old and gray. I must start sucking up to people in advance.

  It scares me, all these things that can go wrong with your mind and body. We’ve seen stomach ulcers and paralysis and hernias and cancers and dementia. It makes me want to run away from the office and climb some hills, write a book or shag some kilted men while I’m still relatively sprightly.

  All musing aside, the urge to be unprofessional quite often prevails. It is dull, repetitive work, so we amuse ourselves by setting challenges to find the oldest client (101), the most common names (Mary and Alex), and the one with the weirdest ailments.

  “Right,” I said today. “The first one to find a goiter wins a fiver.”

  WEEK 120

  April 28

  I’ve made contact! I’ve found a friend. Two, actually!

  Tonight I met up with Rory in a cozy pub on the Royal Mile. Rory is a fellow Australian whom I’ve “known” online for many years. Since we have the dubious honor of both being Canberran expats in Edinburgh, we had to meet up.

  His wife Jane came along too and they were both friendly and hilarious. It was heartening to meet people who’ve successfully existed in Scotland for nearly two years. We bitched about the weather and the food and reminisced about things we missed from Australia. Best of all they told me all about their European travels, which had me squirming in my seat with excitement and remembering why we literally turned our lives upside down.

  It wasn’t until I got home that I realized I’d done two very un-Shauna things tonight. Firstly, I went to a pub and not once did I fret about breaking chairs or knocking over drinks with my enormous hips. Secondly, I talked to strangers! Sure, I’d known Rory from the Internet, but he could have been a serial killer or stamp collector, so it was somewhat bold of me. I’d say the evening was a dazzling step forward for this reformed hermit. And now I’ve got two new numbers in my mobile phone.