Lately it’s becoming increasingly obvious that others make it their personal mission to sabotage my healthy diet.
As I began writing this post, the lemon meringue pie my husband bought me at the markets was sitting on the bench in the kitchen. I had asked him to pick up some fruit and veges. Lemon is a fruit, right?
Sometimes I feel like Hansel and Gretel. I think people are purposefully trying to fatten me up to later roast me on a rotisserie or something. At least that pair could find their way back to safety. I doubt the moreish little bread crumbs would have lasted two minutes in my pockets.
The other day there was a huge saga after I purchased a cherry ripe bar and won a free bar, only to have my husband “clean up” the car and throw the winning wrapper in the bin. What really gets my goat is the fact that earlier he had specifically asked me, “What’s this?” and I had enthusiastically replied, “The wrapper for the free bar I won!”. And yet he still managed to throw it out. Mind. Blown. When I found out about his little misdemeanor bordering on felony, I was ropable. He promised to buy me another one. But that wasn’t the point! I won it fair and square and it’s only a sign that you should eat two chocolate bars consecutively if you WIN one. That’s how I
justify look at it anyway. I had thought it out quite precisely. “If you win one, you have my blessing to eat both”. That was my conscience speaking.
I don’t often buy chocolate bars. Clearly. Otherwise I’d be paralysed by this ongoing internal dialogue. “You deserve it… Go ahead… Eat it!”
“So much sugar. Sooo much sugar. White poison. Additives. Packet crap”.
Aaanyway, I relayed the story to my mum who took pity on me and bought me another one/saw it as an opportunity to buy herself a chocolate bar AND eat it with a partner in crime, ergo less guilt!
I told myself I didn’t need to eat it. But then my rational mind kicked in. Wasn’t it rude to refuse a gift? Indeed.
Wrapper opening time. Bam! Fist pump!! ANOTHER FREE BAR!! Mum was devo. She tried to tell me it was technically her free bar. Not likely, love. Ever tried to separate a mother bear from her cub? Just try to get that wrapper from me.
The next day she told me she was going to the shops. I hurriedly got the wrapper out and asked her to collect my free bar. The elusive free Cherry Ripe. I feel like I should be getting paid by Cadburys now. The number of times I’ve product-placed in this post. Either that or sued by them.
She came back from the shops with two bars. Nice going, ma. But wait. She then proceeded to explain that the kid at the check out didn’t know about any free bar promotion, so she bought two anyway. “They were 85 cents!”. Bloody hell. At this rate I think I’m going to end up getting cherry-pickered out of my house like Gilbert Grape’s mother. CHERRY pickered… See what I did there?
So, now I have yet ANOTHER Cherry Ripe bar and still the free bar wrapper remains! Thank goodness the ones she got this time had no promotion attached. They were just the stock standard kind. Eat bar. Blissfully enjoy. Feel seedy. Feel guilty. Repeat cycle.
That is but one story of the health sabotage I face on a daily basis. I could also mention that when my husband and I were dating, he used to bring me a “treat” every day he visited.
Bueno bars: so light you barely feel like you’ve eaten anything… Bring me another!
Twix bars: I had to eventually beg him not to bring me any more of those- amidst mouthfuls of chocolate, caramel and biscuit- because a) I seriously didn’t need them, and b) they taste more oily and less flavoursome than the ones I had years before. (Just call me the Matt Preston of Twix bars).
Cornchips: not the organic, hand-crafted kind. I’m talking the large two packets for $4 kind. Delicious triangles coated in powdered sin. The kind that turn your fingers the yellow of a two-pack a day smoker.
Since the daily treat times, I’d like to say I’ve come a long way in my eating habits. It’s when I get to this topic that my voluntary amnesia usually kicks in. What Christmas pudding? What cheesecake? Since becoming a mum though, I wouldn’t say I eat REALLY well, but most days I do ok. I’m lucky to get time to feed myself some days though. That’s when vicarious eating comes into it. Whatever I feed my daughter, I feel as if I’ve actually ingested it myself. I reflect over the day and think “Oh yeah, pumpkin, corn, carrot, watermelon… Oh wait! I didn’t actually get to eat that. Well, aside from the remnants leftover on the table”.
But still, the sabotage continues! There is one lady in particular at my weekly playgroup who bakes such delicious treats that I go a bit crazy like a kid at a party. Almost make myself sick kind of crazy. I generally position myself next to the avocado and rice crackers, which I inhale at a rate that I hope will prevent me from having time to reach over for a slice of chocolate cake. But if it’s there, I just have to have it.
On a bigger scale, it seems society is hell-bent on dishing out to me a slow and painful death-by-way-of-food. Recently my favourite gelateria that I used to visit once in a blue moon opened a store 10 minutes from my house! 10 minutes! It’s enough to make anyone think that they did some hard core market research. Scenario: Driving home from somewhere. Baby falls asleep in the car. Well! It’s a sign. Gelato time! Being the dutiful mother that I am, I refrain from giving my child sickeningly sweet treats and ensure that I eat them all instead. I call it “Taking one for the team”.
If I could somehow will myself into having more willpower, I think I’d be fine. But unfortunately my willpower muscle isn’t exercised all too frequently. There are times that I’ve genuinely considered moving to some kind of natural food eating commune, but then I know I’d quite possibly get kicked out for having contraband/encouraging other members to do a Maccas run late at night. No doubt someone would hear me scurrying about at all hours in search of some delicious morsel.
And so it remains, I am semi-slave to the healthy-eating saboteurs. So long, friends! Until my next post.