Mine too. She's in complete denial about it and says she's "Big Sexy" and that I should stop "hating." Add to that smoking like a chimney. Can't walk two blocks without stopping to catch her breath.
When she lived with me for 3 1/2 endless years -- and since I controlled the food -- I introduced her to handball; and she trimmed down quite a bit and regained most of that girlish figure she used to have. (Breasts remained balloon size, which made her very popular with the "homeboys.") I baked instead of frying, made oatmeal with raisins and nuts in the morning instead of running to McDonald's across the street for breakfast, and ragged her about dropping by that greasy cuchifrito with all those heart attacks on a plate displayed on the windows. I also forbade smoking in the house. She switched from Marlboro to Virginia Slims and gave me some dopefiend story about the Slims being "healthier" for her. BS!!! It's still smoking and therefore not allowed. Her "But I'm your mother!" didn't fly with me either.
For 3 1/2 years she could breathe, move, and felt good about herself. I see her once in a while, and her ubiquitous "I'm old and fat now ..." stresses me out so much that I snapped at her last Friday. "That's your choice! ... When you go back to breathing, moving, and eating right instead of smoking like a crackhead and gorging your problems away at the cuchifrito then you'll feel better about yourself. Until then, I don't want to hear it." ... Yesterday she told me her "man" bought her a treadmill. I hope she doesn't use it to hang her clothes to dry or keep her poodle in shape.
I suggest you stop beating around the bush and give it to her straight without being crude, crass, and obscene. Remember: honesty without compassion is brutality.
Good luck my friend, and let me know what happens.
Mine too. She's in complete denial about it and says she's "Big Sexy" and that I should stop "hating." Add to that smoking like a chimney. Can't walk two blocks without stopping to catch her breath.
When she lived with me for 3 1/2 endless years -- and since I controlled the food -- I introduced her to handball; and she trimmed down quite a bit and regained most of that girlish figure she used to have. (Breasts remained balloon size, which made her very popular with the "homeboys.") I baked instead of frying, made oatmeal with raisins and nuts in the morning instead of running to McDonald's across the street for breakfast, and ragged her about dropping by that greasy cuchifrito with all those heart attacks on a plate displayed on the windows. I also forbade smoking in the house. She switched from Marlboro to Virginia Slims and gave me some dopefiend story about the Slims being "healthier" for her. BS!!! It's still smoking and therefore not allowed. Her "But I'm your mother!" didn't fly with me either.
For 3 1/2 years she could breathe, move, and felt good about herself. I see her once in a while, and her ubiquitous "I'm old and fat now ..." stresses me out so much that I snapped at her last Friday. "That's your choice! ... When you go back to breathing, moving, and eating right instead of smoking like a crackhead and gorging your problems away at the cuchifrito then you'll feel better about yourself. Until then, I don't want to hear it." ... Yesterday she told me her "man" bought her a treadmill. I hope she doesn't use it to hang her clothes to dry or keep her poodle in shape.
I suggest you stop beating around the bush and give it to her straight without being crude, crass, and obscene. Remember: honesty without compassion is brutality.
Good luck my friend, and let me know what happens.
-- ED