Dairy Queen is Killing My Diet
Dairy Queen is Killing My Diet
By Lady Elizabeth Tullos
It’s not my fault. Dairy Queen is killing my diet.
It was only a few days of misery without electricity due the City’s policy of double checking ones credit, dental records, and the need for ones first born to be subjected to intense questioning as to mothering skills. So, I went to Dairy Queen, daily to partake in the most delicious tacos around. Temporarily, of course.
The small house I moved into in Georgia had no electric power, and no stove. Now you may ask, “What were you thinking?” and you would be justified in asking that question. I’m not sure what I was thinking, just that I liked the little house and the neighborhood where it sits is quiet and lovely with great old oaks.
Electric problem solved, I moved on to the stove issue which did prove a bit of a problem.
“Well,” I said. “There’s always Dairy Queen,” Those burgers are really good and it will only be for a short time before I get a small stove and can re-establish my nutritious dieting effort. Right. Never happened. I was hooked on Chalupas for breakfast, Tacos for lunch and Hunger Busters for dinner.
“Why, oh why do they make that food taste so good?” And furthermore I lamented, “Why are they forcing me to gobble it down like a ravenous puppy dog?”
So, after a year of being forced to dine at Dairy Queen, my solution was to move. Now, I thought, I will be able to jump back into being a health food foodie with a vengeance.
For the last ten years of my life I have been on a “dieting” adventure. Engaging in every diet known to womankind and always endeavoring to lose that illusive 20 or 30 pounds that seems to hang on every nibble.
So, you’re thinking, good girl, get back on track. Ok, I tried for about a half a day. Tired out from moving and unpacking, walking the dogs, and decorating left me with no energy to cook. I was, however, able to laboriously muster enough energy to put on some lipstick, find my keys, get into the car, drive to Dairy Queen and order a Chicken Finger Basket……with gravy.
“It wasn’t my fault,” I said, as I sipped on my Oreo Blizzard. “It is Dairy Queen that is forcing this yummy food down my gullet.”
As the days and weeks and months wore on, it became increasingly obvious that I was in a cooking rut, actually, a no cooking rut. It just seemed so easy to slip over to Dairy Queen for a quick bite and I had convinced myself that I was saving money by doing so. And, of course, it was Dairy Queen’s fault for making their food so affordable.
Once again, I determined that the only solution to this DQ dilemma was to move, yet again.
The planning, the calling, the gyrations one must go through to set up movers is exhausting so, naturally I ran to Dairy Queen for solace. What a joy to gouache on Nachos.
By this time, I knew that it really was Dairy Queen’s fault, but I didn’t care. I was resigned to the fact that I was going to be forced into eating at DQ for the rest of my life and there was nothing I could do about it. “Go with the flow,” I sighed.
Moving day arrived and the movers didn’t. That was stressful so, my sister, Mary, and I went to Dairy Queen together to calm our nerves. It is so relaxing to dip French fries into ketchup. And to soothe our rankled nerves a bit more, we were forced to eat a chocolate Sunday, with extra chocolate. The calming power of Dairy Queen food is really a ploy to make you eat more. Mary agrees it is truly Dairy Queen’s fault.
When the movers finally did arrive, several days and several burgers later, it was clear that they hadn’t eaten and needed sustenance to tote and haul my stuff onto the truck. I left Mary in charge and went to Dairy Queen, ordered burgers, fries, and sodas for everyone. Oops, I miss calculated and got an extra burger and fries. Yep, you guessed it Dairy Queen made me eat that burger and fries too.
“Ok, ok,” I said. “Now that I will be in a lovely home with a large gourmet kitchen with all the bells and whistles, I must start cooking for myself.”
Little did I know that Dairy Queen was, literally, around the corner? This was just too much. Why was Dairy Queen stalking me? Should I sue? It is their fault after all, my continuing to eat their delicious food and deserts. What is an unsuspecting DQholic to do? Is there a light at the end of this tunnel?
Monday, I went to a meeting. At this meeting the speaker actually accused me as the perpetrator of DQ indulgence. I was appalled.
“What!” I cried, “It is Dairy Queen’s fault. I can’t possibly be responsible.”
It was a lengthy and tearful meeting. And one resulting in the reality that maybe, just maybe I was responsible, well, partly anyway.
I will be going back to these meetings regularly. I feel a little shaky, but I’m making some headway. Yesterday, I managed to make myself a sandwich, at home, with wheat bread. It’s small, but it’s a start.
In the future I envision myself as the quintessential vegan chef sautéing green leafy veggies, whirling up fruit smoothies, chomping on fresh salads, and incorporating tofu and quinoa into my meager meals. Maybe I’ll wear moo-moos and put flowers in my hair too. I’m allergic to incense, so forget that. But I could grow my own vegetables and “live off the land” as they say.
Oh, who am I fooling? I’ll be lucky to slip a frozen dinner into the microwave and pour myself a glass of water.
So until I find the strength to turn on the tap, I’ll just slip over to DQ.
Lady Elizabeth Tullos is the Author of Ivory Wild, an action/adventure novel. You can find it on Amazon at :