As many of you will know, I am a fervent supporter of campaigns that demonise the objectification of women and I detest the unrelenting emphasis on women’s weight that leads to body image issues and the propaganda pertaining to the all-consuming need to be thin.
The issue of weight control has to be handled delicately, and never more so than when its side effects may be harming the health of your own children.
It has come to our attention that the Spoodle Princess is getting a bit fat porky.
When we returned from our most recent dysfunctional holiday, which the Princess spent at a resort in Dural (!), it was obvious that she had lost a lot of weight. You know what holidays in the sun are like? All that exercise, fresh air, tanning and ball-chasing – sometimes a girl can just forget to eat!
Then again, it might also have been because she was actually walked occasionally, or because for ten days every predatory male dog south of Sydney chased her for what we like to call, a special cuddle.
I’m not sure if it was the guilt of sending her away or the fact that her selection of designer coats was a little loose around her small frame when we returned, but the family began to compensate by overfeeding her.
Anyone who has a Hoodle (Spaniel crossed with human) knows how easy that is to do. There’s always that leftover sausage or NC’s* cooking (often only fit for Hoodle consumption) and the Princess’s favourite meal, Spaghetti Bolognaise.
Over the last week, however, we’ve noticed that she has developed some rather embarrassing love handles and is becoming harder to carry during her walks.
Upon analysis of her feeding habits, during one of our recent family therapy sessions, (and a mortifying reading on the scales), it appears that the Princess has actually been eating more than the rest of the family put together, which, when you consider that her fighting weight is 8kg, is obviously detrimental to her health.
Her level of fitness has obviously already been affected.
She no longer chases the ball like she used to, when for a few minutes of the day she would forget she is human and behave like a common dog. She struggles to jump onto the sofa to vacuum crumbs, and I am certain that I discerned a tut the other day when I suggested a walk around the block.
So I have been forced to mention the D word in the house, which is something I have tried to avoid as the mother of NC, knowing what an impact that word can have on young girls.
I have had to remind the Princess that she is in fact a DOG and porky dogs are no fun at all.
In her defence, I know that she wants to help herself. I can tell that she is uncomfortable in her pink velvet Dogue coat when the hood sits that little bit too tightly around her neck, and she is struggling to bark really threateningly at Trixie Yapface next door without pausing for breath. She takes her role as guard dog to the family very seriously, and was embarrassed to find herself breathless recently after an ill-timed dash downstairs to give the postie his daily warning to ‘fuck off’.
The old man spoke on the Princess’s behalf at the meeting and we have finally managed to persuade her to try the 5:2 diet. This diet proposes that you eat for five days and fast for two – we did need to correct the Princess’s initial assumption that this involved five meals for five days a week and two on the other days.
Weigh-ins have been a traumatic process for the whole family, but we know that we have to be strong for our girl.
The North Shore has high standards and you need to be able to wear your collection of designer coats with pride, so the other bitches stop and stare in envy rather than bark out the number for Weight Watchers.