My name is Becky and I am disgusting.
And if I’ve got to admit it, my darling Listener, then so have you. Admit it. You are disgusting. We are all disgusting. We have spent the last fortnight slouched on various sofas scoffing various beige food (the best party food is always beige), chucking endless booze down our flabby throats, and passing out into bloated, saggy comas.
It’s been wonderful.
And then came Monday morning and we put on our work trousers.
I shall admit, dearest Listener old pal, that I was alarmed on Monday. I thought someone had kindly placed some cushions in the seat of my desk chair, and then I realised that I was in fact snuggling into the comfortable squidge of my own love handles. I spent the day gently perspiring, which I can only assume was my body finally ridding itself of two weeks’ worth of non-stop festive alcohol.
So, naturally, and along with literally everyone else, I decided to detox.
And as I have just completed my first day of detoxing, I thought I’d write you, my lovely listeners, a helpful guide to assist you in your quest for cleansed perfection. You’re welcome.
What you will need
- Delusions of success.
- Approximately £10,000’s worth of fresh fruit, vegetables, nuts, wholegrains, ominously-named health food shop items, and some form of mystical rare plant powder off the Internet that claims to boost your vitality, purify your system and improve your football dribbling skills.
Day 1 Detox Plan
07:15 Wake up with vague sense of dread. Quickly cast aside the implausible yearning for a bacon sandwich and a cheeky morning pint.
07:33 Let the struggle with which you pull on your previously loose-fitting skirt encourage you to make this day brilliant and to be the healthiest and most motivated person in the world and to transform yourself into a vision of saintly excellence.
07:46 Retrieve from the fridge the unidentifiable-green-sludge-that-was-supposed-to-be-a-juice-but-you-don’t-have-a-juicer that you made last night using thirteen different green ingredients, including moss, algae, seaweed, pond scum and the mystical Internet powder, spent twenty minutes pulverising in your inadequate blender which resulted in your kitchen looking like Fungus the Bogeyman had had a particularly violent cold up the walls. Remind yourself that this green sludge is breakfast. And lunch.
08:24 Order a flimsy black coffee instead of your normal frothy latte. Tell yourself you’re doing it for King and country.
09:03 Finish watery coffee and, in a single, glorious second, think ‘Well at least I have a lovely bowl of sugary granola smothered in thick, creamy yoghurt for breakfast’. Then remember about the green sludge.
09:58 Breakfast. Retrieve green sludge from the fridge. Quickly realise you can’t drink it from the flask because its sludgy, thick consistency means that thick blobs of gloop simply slide onto your face, and instead eat it with a teaspoon. Try to ignore the mounting bitterness that is not only filling your mouth, but your heart.
10:07 Put remaining green sludge in fridge. Ignore colleagues’ questions, remarks, and utterly unhelpful comments about how tasty their own breakfasts were.
10:11 Experience a brief but pleasing sensation of smugness as you consider the goodness that you’ve just put in your body.
10:12 – 12:10 Throw yourself into your work, and imagine your body exorcising itself of evil.
12:15 Ignore colleagues’ declarations of where they are going for lunch, or how many types of cheese they have stuffed into a French stick. Continue to work doggedly. (Useful tip: have some tissues at hand to wipe away the solitary tear that will fall from your eye as you consider the green sludge waiting for you in the fridge.)
13:00 Moodily stomp outside for a walk, then experience the astounding revelation that you only ever step outside your office during the day in order to hunt for food, and thus are now utterly directionless because you have no need for food as you have the green sludge.
13:02 Walk moodily round the block, and stomp moodily back into the office. Tell your colleagues it’s just started to rain.
13:28 Sit hunched at your desk in front of Google images of ‘best burgers in the world’ and slurp green sludge from a teaspoon. Follow with a cup of peppermint tea and a healthy dose of resentment towards humanity.
13:47 Feel momentarily euphoric because you don’t feel full or sluggish, and remind yourself that the green sludge gives you nothing but goodness.
13:48 – 15:09 Get on with your work, and genuinely forget about the green sludge.
15:10 Get up to go to the toilet, and walk straight into the hard wall of hunger. Realise you are dangerously hungry. You have probably never been this hungry. Look wildly around the office. Note the tin of sweets left over from Christmas. Squeeze out an ounce of willpower and try to focus on the taut stomach and inner peace you will achieve if you stick to the green sludge.
15:39 Give the following response when one of your colleagues says they will bring to the office the enormous unopened box of Christmas biscuits they didn’t eat at home.
15:43 Weep softly.
15:44 – 17:20 Finish the working day with increasing fatigue, bitterness, and irrational rage.
17:21 Crawl home. Do not for one second contemplate the prospect of a glass of wine or a chocolate biscuit. Instead, get home and immediately put on your jogging pants.
18:12 Flap-arse about in your bedroom with a couple of dumbells, download the 30 Day Squat Challenge app, do half the squats you’re supposed to do because they’re uncomfortable, and lug your drooping, groaning buttocks out of the door for a jog.
18:33 Seriously contemplate going back home.
18:39 Experience an endorphin.
18:41 Realise you have the actual ability and physical fortitude to run a marathon. Make mental note to sign up for one when you get home in four hours’ time.
18:42 Get an excruciating stitch, trip over a stick, hack your guts up into a bush and try to tell yourself you don’t need an ambulance.
19:01 Having crawled home, have a shower and prepare dinner. This will involve 23 green and obscure ingredients and won’t use anything normal like potatoes or pasta.
19:25 Consume your virtuous green creation in front of Man vs Food.
19:31 Sit very still in front of an empty plate and fight urge to order a pizza.
19:45 – 21:30 Absorb yourself in something engrossing, like a Netflix binge or mountaineering.
21:49 Make tomorrow’s green sludge.
21:56 – 22:33 Clean the kitchen.
22:38 Crawl into bed in a cocoon of confusing mixed emotions over the day’s apparent success and the excruciating hunger that is literally consuming your entire being.
22:52 Text your work colleague and ask him nicely to please bring in that unopened box of Christmas biscuits to the office tomorrow.
Repeat the above on days 2 and 3, and on day 4 replace green sludge with brie and bacon baguette, three packets of crisps, a sausage roll, two doughnuts and four pints of self-loathing.
42 thoughts on “Becky says things about … how to detox”
Becky that post is B R I L L I A N T.
Hurrah! My loyal, faithful Lavender 🙂 Thank you xxxx
This really made me laugh, so…that’s enough abdominal exercise for one day, right? *stuffs face with remainder of Christmas cheese mountain*
If your laugh was audible and thus made your abdominals contract, then I think you should lie down and don’t move for the rest of the day. If your laugh was silent, then just do a single star jump and then you’re done.
I would literally love a cheese mountain right now.
…a healthy dose of resentment for humanity. I wonder how big a healthy dose is. If I were drinking green sludge, I imagine that the dose would be pretty high.
You made me laugh…because it is so true. Thanks so much.
Take it from me, the healthy dose was p r e t t y b i g….
Thank you for reading 🙂
Thank you for writing and drawing.
Thank you for reading and commenting!
Oh this was hilarious! I’m crying 😀
YOU’RE crying? How do you think I felt before, during and after the green sludge??!!! 🙂
That was a riot! My own back-to-work blog post involved far more sloth and far less sludge!
I’d LOVE some sloth…. anything but the sludge….
Thank you thank you thank you Becky! I am being 100% honest when I say that your writing makes me laugh out loud more frequently than anyone else’s. You have a gift!
Congratulations on your one endorphin. You deserved it!
Fun fact: “endorphin” was chosen as the name because researchers thought it was an “endogenous morphine” – something that your body makes that hits the same receptors that morphine does. So there we go. You had one endogenous morphine-like substance at 18:39. Congrats!
Yay, my old friend! Thanks dude 🙂
And yes, that single endorphin was brilliant! If only they made more of them….
And thanks for the nugget of knowledge! You are a fountain of wisdom!
First things first…I”m ecstatic to find Stickman back in my inbox. Secondly…let me read the post now…
Like always, you’ve had me in stitches…
Ahhh bless you, thanks pal!
Based on this post, you NEED to watch this clip…you won’t stop laughing…promise…
Heavens to ruddy Betsy, THAT is the best thing I have seen in a long time!! ‘Hello station-ar-y biiiikes’ had me in stitches! And what voices! I thought it was actually Adele at first….. Thank you for bringing that to my attention, I am now going to share it with everyone I know. 🙂
The best thing about the green sludge is how horrified and nauseated everyone looks on the subway while they watch you drink it on your way to work.
That’s a good idea. You could also say loudly to the person next to you ‘Would you like to see my rare algae specimen from the pond near my house?’ Then drink it.
Also fun– eat vanilla pudding out of mayonnaise jar with an extra large spoon.
That….has just ….blown my mind….
Reblogged this on That's Life and commented:
So there I was, leisurely thumbing through the wordpress reader when I did a double-take. Was that stickman I just saw there? Has Becky said something? Yes, it’s Becky and stickman – yay. My favourite ever, ever blog. It’s been oh so quiet….so I thought I’d share this marvellous blog which makes me LOL very loudly.
I like how detoxes give you a feeling of superiority right up until you get buried beneath a pile of pizza boxes.
I love being buried beneath a pile of pizza boxes.
oh this is great 🙂
Thank you! 🙂
Yay! You’re back!
I had to try on three pairs of jeans today before I found a pair I could breathe in. All this just to go to the new Star Wars and eat a family sized bucket of popcorn. No, I did not share it!
Hahahaha good! Family sized buckets are not for sharing!
Hahaha. Currently doing a teatox, so I found myself nodding a lot to this post. My co-workers know not to bring sweets to the office because I will murder them. xD
A teatox. Excellent. I am staring at a tin of sweets as we speak. My colleagues are lying dead on the floor.
Ha! I am so there! Love your blog and your humor.
Thank you! 🙂
This is all the truth. All the truth in the whole world.
And nothing but the truth.
So help me God I could murder a piece of cake.
NO. You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to disappear for four months (without explanation, I might add) and then magically reappear and be all brilliant and whatnot. How bloody unfair is that?! You’re the devil in disguise.
Clever of you to tag “humor” and “humour.” Vying for international fame and fortune.
Sorry….. And yes I should have given an explanation for my absence ,but the truth is I was just being RUBBISH, and no one wants to admit to being RUBBISH, do they?
I thought the humour and humor ploy was quite cunning as well 🙂
HAHA I died. This is amazing. An apt description of any time someone tries to go on a crash detox ❤
Well, I have a lot of experience in this field…
Well you’ve got yourself a follower cause chu be funny!
As have you cause as are you! 🙂