The Boxed Wine And Whatever Is In The Fridge Crash Diet

Hello again, readers! We here at Bunny Ears love trying out new diets and telling you about the results. Juice cleanses, the five-bite system, raw foods—we’re here for them all. And as much as I’d love to review a new trendy diet for you today, I hit a bit of a snafu up front: The only thing I have unopened in the house is a box of wine.

So introducing…The Boxed Wine Diet.

Don’t worry folks, we’re hardly going off the rails here. Wine is a prominent staple in many a vintage crash diet (and vintage is trendy!). Champagne too, if you’re some sort of fancy asshole. What, you too good to shamefully slink up to the convenience store counter with a gallon plus of bottom shelf boxed wine, avoiding eye contact with the cashier when he asks if you’re having a party? The hell with you then, more for me.

Maybe, just maybe I should have sobered up before writing this.

Day One: Boxed Wine And Wilted Leftover Salad.

So like, you know how those salads that come in bags are always just enough for an overflowing bowl plus an extra third or so you can’t bring yourself to throw away? Well turns out I had exactly three leftover bags in the fridge—all different types of lettuce. So I just dump them all in a bowl: mixed greens, iceberg, and kale.

The mixed greens were almost liquefied and the lettuce had that red veiny thing going on, but you won’t believe how numb your tongue gets when you’ve been drinking from the moment you wake up.

The kale still tasted awful, but you know what, fuck kale.

Day Two: Boxed Wine And Some French Fries.

I guess we can call this my cheat day, because fries aren’t technically great diet food. There wasn’t a whole lot of them, though. I felt a little sleepy afterward and took a nap on the front porch.

A butt naked nap, apparently. I think someone (maybe the mail man? ) draped a newspaper over me at some point.

That’s all I remember.

Day Three: Boxed Wine And An Entire Packet Of Processed Cheese Slices.

Feeling a little dizzy. Having trouble swallowing.

The cheese seemed to harden in my stomach into a fist-sized lump. The Cheese Fist was a manifestation of all of my failures and regrets, lumped up deep inside me. Gumming up all my innards. Plotting for the day it ultimately destroys me.

On my tombstone it will read: Died By The Merciless Fist Of Cheese That Resides Within All Of Us. Judging us.

I’m starting to think this wasn’t my best idea.

Day Four: Boxed Wine And An Entire Bottle Of Hot Sauce.

Literally the last thing left in the fridge. I don’t remember having acid reflux before, but I definitely have it now. I’m sweating so much. Even the sweat feels spicy.

My eyes feel spicy…I don’t feel so good.

Woke up naked on the porch again. It was dark. No idea how long I’d been there.

Day…Today: Boxed Wine And More Boxed Wine.

And here we are now, today…which is…Thursday? Maybe? I’m not home right now, which is disconcerting since I don’t remember leaving the house.

Whose laptop is this?

Am I in a hotel?

Is this vomit or baby food?

Can I still buy more wine?

Image: Pitaya/Flickr, Pixabay, Franzia