Tuesday, January 28, 2014


Dieting is one of those things that consumes you.  I mean, literally takes over your life to the point where all you can think about is food.  What am I going to eat next?  How many calories do I have left?  What am I going to have for dinner three weeks from now when I finally get to put aside the calorie counting for one meal?  Why do those chocolate cake donuts have to have 500 calories apiece?  Why???

It's like when I was potty-training Matthew and Leah at the same time (do not try this at home).  I felt like I was the living embodiment of those old anti-drug commercials where someone was frying an egg: This is your brain.  This is your brain on potty training.  This is your brain stopping by to inform you that your son just peed in the pantry.

But you know what helped?  Chocolate.

You know what helps when you're dieting?

Yeah... nothing.  It's not true, what they tell you.  Everything tastes better than being skinny feels.

But honestly, I've been soooo good.  And by that I mean I haven't tried to kill my husband even though he always has like 500 calories left at the end of the day.  However, I think the universe is conspiring against me. Exhibit A:

At church on Sunday I was sitting next to a woman who opened her purse to reveal a GIANT BAG OF CHOCOLATE.  Rolos.  Snickers.  Twix bars.  It was all there.  "Do you want one?" she asked innocently, as if she couldn't see my tongue hanging out like I'd just turned into a Labrador retriever.

But I was good.  I only took one teeny tiny 42 calorie bite-size Snickers.  Phew.  Self-control asserted. 

And then she started handing me more chocolate.  And not just like "Here, save these for later" chocolate.  She was UNWRAPPING Snickers bars and handing them to me.  UNWRAPPED SNICKERS BARS.  IN MY HANDS.

What was I supposed to do?  Let it melt?  Say, "No, thank you."?  People, she was handing me UNWRAPPED CHOCOLATE BARS.  I mean, if I hadn't been dieting, this would have been a dream come true.  "Yeah, baby, keep it coming!  Momma needs a pair of size 16 pants!"

As it was, I was panicking.  Which felt weird, you know - panicking over food.  But I'm obsessive about saving calories for a treat at the end of the day, and if I eat my treat at 3:00 in the afternoon, what am I going to do when 8:00 comes around?

In the end I ate two candy bars, slipped two into my purse to mingle with the used kleenexes, and was able to find the appropriate words to refuse a fifth.  But now I have Post Traumatic Snickers Refusal Disorder.  I mean, I refused chocolate. FREE chocolate.  What is the point in living?

Please don't say it's flax seed.

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