I was a pound heavier yesterday. And another pound today. But that’s all your fault Pummi. Why’d you introduce me to the chocolate, cashew and cranberry trail mix from Trader Joes? Three evil C’s. Naturally, I was compelled to eat it all, and sat up till midnight doing so. My reasoning was the same as it always is – finish the good stuff today, so it won’t lead me astray tomorrow.
Tomorrow is now today. And today was supposed to be that perfect new day when everything changes for the better. But, like it often does, the plan got delayed.
As I got the kiddos ready for school, I thought about how good I was feeling, and how I was gonna eat right and sweating off calories with a running regimen. I made the kids cheesy eggs on buttery toast, served with a side of yogurt and berries. Little boy, however, didn’t want to finish his eggs, especially the toast.
That’s when things went south. While the kids were putting their shoes on, I started my two minute ‘clean the canteen routine,’ which entails piling everything into the sink and restocking the fridge. But right when I was about to wipe the scraps off of Little Boy’s plate, the dreaded thing happened.
Side note: I’m going to give the dreaded thing a name, due to it’s frequency and power to undo hours, sometimes days of my good intentions. I’m calling it the Vortex-emort (inspired of course, by he who cannot be named, thank you J.K.). Vortex-emort is the evil spirit who makes me eat whatever is in front of me. When he shows up, quickly, and discreetly, he psyches me into throwing myself down the vortex of eating purely for the sake of it. Vortex-emort really sucks.
When I inhaled those scraps of bread and left over eggs, Vortexemort obliterated my morning resolutions. And once I feel like I messed up, it changes my mood, and the rest of my day is gastronomically fucked. Look, I know it doesn’t make sense. But when did I ever claim to be rational or level-headed?
Soggy bread and semi-gelatinous egg yolk nested in my belly, I decided redemption would come in the form of a fresh start tomorrow. What else are tomorrows for? But today…today was for pardying.
I texted the woman I was supposed to jump-start my workouts with. sorry gotta bail, totally forgot have to sign for fedex delivery, hubbies golf clubs en route. Yeah right. Like ghar-walla plays golf.
But then…I was free to eat! With kids in school, no exercise to cramp my style, and another victory for Vortexemort, there was no reason not to go the whole nine yards and have a pardy for one.
Which is exactly what I did.
First, I had four Fiber One bars, basically only eating the areas dense in chocolate chips.
Then, I made some coffee, put some french vanilla cream in it. And then…
…major problem arose. There was no junk food in the house…I ate it all the night before. But it was raining. And going to the grocery store on pardy day is kind of a bummer. Rummaging, I found some chocolate chip cookies…kinda stale but better when dipped into warm coffee with french vanilla cream.
Next: two fried eggs on toast with mayo. Why hold back?
Dessert? I could only find grapes. Umm…no thanks! Found some ice cream, covered in freezer burn. Gross. I looked out the window, yep, still pouring. Still grim. But not as grim as the prospect of no dessert on pardy day.
It was time to hit up 7-11. It’s not as bountiful as the grocery store, but would surely provide something deliciously crappy. And it was within walking distance.
Minutes later, my moti ass walked into the painful brightness of the most convenient junk store in America, and my motigirl radar instantly honed in on the box of milk chocolate Lindt balls next to the register. Those that know me, know these nuggets of delight are the fastest way to the depths of my heart. You could fart in my face, but if you give me a Lindt ball, I’ll forgive you immediately.
Hiding behind my oversized shades, I asked the counter lady if they sold the Lindts in bags. She replied by rolling her eyes and shrugging her shoulders. I assumed that meant “No.”
Walking around, I spotted some Hostess mini chocolate frosted “donettes.” Not having had ‘em in years, I figured it was time to taste them again. I grabbed the donuts, placed them on the counter, and then casually reached into the box of Lindts. I extracted three. Not nearly enough. I grabbed three more. The lady looked at me with a mixture of pity and disgust. It was like she kinda knew I was prepping for a “rock out for one.”
Just as I reach into my wallet, I see my daughter’s, super skinny, very pretty Spanish teacher who, as is my luck, is obsessed with organic, holistic nutrition. She’s outside the front door, hovering in front of the Red Box. Shit. She’s the same teacher who banned the sending of sugary substances to school due to “undesirable behavioral effects on children.” I panic.
The lady behind the counter is still giving me a pathetic look. I point to the donettes and pretend to count them. “I just want to make sure there ar enough for all the kids.”
“Oh…these are for kids?” she says, clearly not believing me.
“Of course! What, you thought they were for me?” I said, defensive.
Meanwhile, the f’in teacher was finishing her Red Box business, which bought me ten seconds to get the goods in my bag and bolt towards the door, hoodie over my head, and make a bee line out of the parking lot. Yes! I got away, but damn, it was close.
Once home, I parked it on the sofa, and giddy as a pre-teen at a Justin Bieber concert, I dug into my bag of heaven. I heated up some leftover coffee and dipped in the donettes, the chocolate melting poetically upon contact with the hot liquid. I had one, then another, then another, until the bag was done.
It was time for the main course. I popped a Lindt ball, and just as I was savoring the orgasmic explosion of chocolate against the walls of my mouth, I heard the front door open. WTF? Panic again.
“Sweetie? You home? It’s me…”
Ghar-walla was home way, way, waaaaay too early! I sprang up, threw the bag of good-ness underneath the sofa and wiped my chocolatey hands on my lulu-lemony tush. He walked over, amused look on his face, and gave me a smoochie (we’re modern like that).
“Looks like someone has some chocolate on their chin.” BUSTED! He smiled and shook his head.
Good thing ghar-walla loves his moti.