, , , , ,

She had started out with excellent intentions. Her heart was set on a trimmer figure; she wanted to get back into her favourite jeans and still be able to both breathe and sit down.

She had tried all sorts of diets in the past; the Atkins diet, the grapefruit diet, calorie counting, food grouping – none of it had worked. Still, when her friend told her about the seven day juice diet, she was ready to give it a go.

The first few days went well. Despite the unappetising colour of some of the drinks, and the disturbing way some of them separated, she stuck to it.

By the third day, her work colleagues were calling her “Juicy Lucy”, and they constantly quizzed her on what exactly went into the drinks that she brought in. They all seemed to think that drinking juices that included spinach, beetroot and broccoli was just strange.

She answered their questions in a good natured way, and even put up with the cartoons of terrified carrots that appeared on her desktop, but there was only so much that she could put up with.

When, on day five, her manager decided to treat the entire office to fish and chips for lunch, the stress was too much. She never used her juicer again.

© Kari Fay

(Author’s Note: Three Word Wednesday this week gives the words “Figure, Juicy, Stress” – and coincidentally, some of the girls I work with are planning to do the seven day juice diet next month. I know I couldn’t do it. Aside from anything else, I’m just not a diet-y girl. So, in place of trying and failing, I just write about failing!)