They say to gain a pound, an entire one pound in a day, it requires an extra 3,500 calories — from what you typically consume and burn.

Just to make sure I’m clear and understand … I need to do what I do a normal basis, in terms of eating and getting the work out on, and then in addition to that, go stuff my face with another 3,500 calories.

Okay, got it.

Now.

I read this before and wondered how this was possible. Who in their right mind is able to down an extra 3,500?

Friends, what I’ve learned is the age-old phrase : judge not least ye be judged.

I found out on Bastille Day just how possible — easily possible this is. I bring you to : Les Bateaux Mouches.

Maman and I navigated a very packed métro {read : we both didn’t stop using GermX} to get to the Pont de l’Alma, where all the Bateaux Mouches take off. I prefer to use the words, “take off” here. Sounds a bit more … exciting.

I had visions of this being super touristy, because, what Bateaux Mouche ride isn’t? That’s the whole reason they started the damn things.

Well, this one wasn’t. In fact, there were more Frenchies than tourists, which is always a good sign.

The set up was dowright lovely, as Maman called it. Tables lined up against the open glassed windows. Place settings just so and just right. Absolutely gorgeous.

We sit down and immediately are greeted with the popping of a Laurent Perrier Champagne bottle. We all know I’m not a big drinker, so already I’m concerned. An entire bottle of champs to go through? Naturally, I had to rise to the occasion. Afterall, I do love me some good champs. I wasn’t about to let Laurent go to waste.

Our launch time was 8:30. We boarded at 8 and by 8:20, I was already feeling drunk. Yeah, doesn’t take much to get me sloshed. I knew I needed to slow down and pace thyself. And eat.

Suddenly, food starts pouring forth out of nowhere. Dinner roll, don’t mind if I do. Foie Gras? Why yes, definitely don’t mind if I do. It was delicious. Divinely delicious.

Duck is fabulous. It really is. If you can get it out of your mind that you’re eating a cute little canard. Which I had trouble with off and on. Maman asked me why I was eating so fast and I told her, “because all I can do is picture some damn cute duck. If I don’t eat this fast, I’ll never get it down.”

I’m not a big bread person. Precisely because I love bread. If it’s around, I’ll be cramming it in, piece after piece, in my mouth.

Do I really want to put myself through that? I’d be like the Nutella commercials, where they’re sitting there with it spread on toast on breakfast, claiming how nutritious it is. Except I wouldn’t have just one, I’d have like 11 in a row — and that’s no joke.

So when bread is around on special events, I like to indulge. With tons of butter, too. So I down the foie gras. I down the cranberry bread with it {perfectly complemented the duck}. I then down the big dinner roll that I put said tons of butter on. Then there came a salad.

A scallop salad. I’m not big on seafood. Neither is Maman, she has that bad shellfish allergy, so she really can’t afford to eat any of it. I just don’t like that seaish taste. However, the greens in this thing were to die for. Ate that. And oh, here comes another piece of bread to go with the salad. Why, yes, let me consume more.

Then comes the main course, which at this point, I’m already feeling full. But who am I to turn down du boeuf? And the other delectableness that came with? I’m not. So I keep eating. More bread arrives. I eat that, too.

Post dinner, the cheese dish {Maman says to call it the cheese course, but I’m sticking at dish} arrives. By now, I knew. If I were to consume more, I might become physically ill. I just couldn’t hang. Plus I kept having more champagne. And then it was time to move onto the vino. The Bateau Mouche dinner came with a bottle of that, too.

At one point I realized if the Mouche were to go down, none of us would make it off. Not only did I not see any life jackets, or “in case of emergency signs”, but we all would have been completely wasted off our asses.

I at least had the good sense to pause and take plenty of breaks — sightseeing breaks. We’d pass one spectacular monument after the next and up top I’d go, to snap photos and be the cheesy, under the influence tourist that I was.

After one said break, I was thrilled to see the café had arrived at our table. I was hoping it would help sober me up and somehow help me get dessert ready — both of which it miraculously did.

Between Maman and myself someone had to be the responsible, semi coherent party. The choice was obvious. Ahem, that would be moi.

When it came time to head up for the fireworks, I was astounded at the crowds surrounding me. Every bridge packed full. Both banks spilling over with people shoulder to shoulder.

To signal the start of the feu d’artifices, the Eiffel Tower suddenly went black. The crowds went wild. Much cheering and shouting and clapping — all of which was very French.

It started with a single boom that quickly became one after another after another. An endless array of lights lighting up the sky and Seine. For thirty straight minutes. Hands down the most impressive fireworks display I’ve ever seen.

As I stood up against the railing, smelling the water, seeing those colors reflecting their blues and greens and reds against the Seine, I was struck with how perfect it was.

This perfect moment.

I know I might say this frequently, about the magic and perfection in moments, but I will never cease to be astounded by them. To have my breath cut short and my heart leap in its chest.

I kept staring up at the sky, seeing all of Paris lit up in a way that I never have before. Seeing how everyone, all the thousands of us, were united. We were all having our own different and unique experiences, but still, we were together.

The fact that my derrière had literally expanded from the amount of food consumed, didn’t even bother me. Forget gaining a pound, I know it was more like three. Heck, maybe four.

And you know what? I didn’t care. I didn’t give a flying fuck, possibly for the first time in my life, that I had eaten 17,984 calories in one meal alone.

The epiphany came, people. And it was huge. I mean it when I say this might have been the first time since I was 15 that I wasn’t wondering how much working out I’d have to do the next day to cancel out the day before, or if my clothes would suddenly feel tighter on me — I was happy.

Happy I ate every single bite I did, because I truly wanted it and savored it. It took me  watching fireworks on the Seine in a slightly hazy Champagne state to realize food is not the enemy.

It’s definitely a friend. Actually, I think I’m going to add everything I love on the friend list. Like Facebook, but for stuff. Which sometimes can be way better.

So while they might say it’s within the realm of possibilities to gain a pound in a day, I think they should also say:

And you better have a damn good time doing it!