The Struggle of Dieting

I swung by the house for lunch with a chicken burger. Eliana had us on a vegetarian diet for a month. I tried it for a week and caved to chicken.
I sat on the edge of my dark recliner, elbows resting on my knees. I closed my eyes and sank my teeth into the burger. I singled out the tomato and cheese with mayonnaise. God, I’d never loved mayo this much. I grabbed a fry and sipped a large chilled Coke, not a diet, a real Coke.
The TV played the news. It was going on about what you should think. I think not. I had enough problems thinking my own thoughts out. Trust erodes and creates programmed masses. Asking questions crumbles, accepting what others say is best for you.
Eliana comes in the back door. I sniff and narrow one eye.
“Gael?” Eliana said, wiping a piece of chicken from her mouth. “I’m…” She looked at my hands. “You failed, too!”
“Don’t turn this around on me,” I said. “I’m not the one who suggested we diet,” I said, shaking my head. “I’m all for healthy eating, but I’m not giving up meat.”
“I feel stupid.” Eliana kicked off her heels and sat beside me.
We continued to eat. “Can I have some of that drink?” She said, still chewing her food.
“I thought you gave up soda?” I gave her a tight-lipped stare.
Eliana rolled her eyes. “Here.” She opened and closed her hand.
“It’s your death,” I said, my voice tinged with sarcasm.
“And it’ll be yours if you don’t shut up.”
“Last year, you helped me lose ten pounds of insecurity,” I said.
Eliana covered her mouth. “Aww.” She scrunched her nose. “And you helped me gain a soul mate.”
We kissed with onion breath.