My Fat Cells Hate Me

After the stomach flu, I was down to a pretty acceptable weight of 187. Bringing my total weight loss after the surgery to 121 pounds. Affectionately known as losing a 14 year old boy. Plus one pound.
However, it has become clear that my fat cells have not been fooled. No, they haven't packed their bags and gone off to find a more suitable host. They were waiting, like spiders in a dark corner, waiting for just that right moment when I, being their life long host, decide, what the fuck, this weekend I'm going to actually EAT like a normal person. Screw skipping meals and just nibbling my way through the family dinners. I wanted to, you know, eat. We were on vacation. Where calories don't count.
Once we got to our hotel on Friday night, we ordered room service. The compulsive eater's equivalent to an open bar wedding for an alcoholic. And dammit, I wanted food. We had mushroom soup, bruchetta, lobster ravioli, key lime torts and chocolate covered strawberries.
On Saturday night, we had dinner at my favorite restaurant with some of our favorite people and ok, perhaps I should have reconsidered that third basket of bread and rethought my rational of hey, if they bring more butter and no one is looking, I could smear the entire pot of butter on that third roll. Chocolate mousse for dessert? Why, yes! Thank you. It was free too so I HAD to eat it. It wouldn't be right to let it go to waste.
And my fat cells? Think wack-a-mole. I flatten them down with all my stellar dieting and lap band but they have the ability to pop right back up with just one swipe of the butter knife. Mother fuckers.
It's just not right. And completely unfair that after all I have done, the starving and limiting and pushing away and saying no and making good choices, christ, I even order skinny lattes with sugar free vanille and non fat milk from Starbucks, and eat my god damn weight in leafy green vegetables, and after just one weekend of sane and normal eating (or maybe not so sane)? I gain five pounds. How does one actually DO that? Two days? FIVE pounds?
So, this being Monday, I'm back to the old plan. Coffee for breakfast, a longing and loving look at the golden arches as I drive bye for lunch and happily serving dinner to the fam but not daring to even smell it for fear some of the juices or spices or grease or fucking calories go up my nose and find a comfy home inside those fat cells that yes, hate me.