[QUOTE=Mark Ryle]
The OP employs hyperbole in paragraph four also. Did her mother really “scream” that in the restaurant? I’m guessing no, she probably spoke louder than was comfortable for all concerned. So, “just stop eating,” bolded, I read as “eat a little less” and, possibly, “skip breakfast.” With a breakfast like that I would gain weight too.
[/QUOTE]
The OP will have to answer this, but my mother herself suffers from guanoneurological anxiety psychosis. I can believe what the OP is saying is literally true.
Mom’s standard excuse/rationalization/whatever is that she’s “Pennsylvania Dutch.” Because, you know, they take care of people, show them hospitality etc. and that means two things: 1) food, and 2) more food.
One morning, when I was at the acme of heavy, mom said she was concerned about my weight, how it wasn’t good for my health etc. Now, I was tempted to mention that she always had Little Debbies etc. around the house when I was growing up, fought me tooth and nail when I started jogging (like a 17 year old is going to have a heart attach or something), and so on.
Do I need to say how not healthy her cooking is? Too much oil, too much salt, etc. She grew up during the Depression, when people actually worked off their meals, so that style was more appropriate in her time. And when I was little my dad got deathly ill, so she started working outside the house to help support the family—she didn’t have time to get all fancy with the cooking after eight hours at the factory. So I understand in why she cooks like that, but she refuses to concede on even things like portions, even as she watches some of her grown children struggle with weight.
If you’re not 20 lbs overweight, you’re too thin in her eyes…like she projects anorexia onto people. And by the way, those leftovers? You’re taking them home…she insists, even though past arguments over this issue have nearly come to blows. My brother said to her once, “Sure, I’ll take it. You can retrieve it from that garbage can by the road just around the corner if you like.”
Fact is, she wanted and wants an eating buddy. If you clean your plate, you must still be hungry and she will fix you more. So after expressing concern about my weight, she asked me if I wanted bacon or sausage with my breakfast. All day, it’s “There are some cookies out there if you’re hungry” and “I want you to try this new candy I found at the supermarket.” She’s hopeless and at 83 years old, not going to change.
Guanoneurological anxiety psychosis, GAP for short: I tell you, it exists.