Friday, August 14, 2009
Healthy Eating... Bleh
I love veggies and fruit as much, if not more, than most people. I love a crunchy salad for lunch, baked salmon for dinner and orange slices for breakfast. I eat fiber bars in the morning, add sugar to my coffee sparingly, and dine on cottage cheese and tomatoes for supper. But sometimes, I get my fill. Sometimes I dream of Hostess Cupcakes and lose my mind.
Everyone has that other side. Another food personality. We should nick-name those mad-women alter egos who take over our brains and consume vast quantities of mozzarella sticks. Ravenous Regina. Starving Samantha. Dont-Block-The-Sonic-Drive-Through-During-Happy-Hour-Or-I'll-Run-You-Down-With-My-Car-Carrie.
What is this? Another aspect of the Curse of Eve? Wasn’t the pain of child birth enough? Nope, we have to endure massive swings in hormones that reduce us to one-woman eating machines.
This is what has happened to me. Healthy Liz has been replaced with some over-powering dark-deeded wench intent on making me eat chocolate & vanilla swirls topped with cherries from TCBY. Intent on forcing me to shove handfuls of potato chips in my mouth. Focused on reminding me how much I love olives straight from the jar, bags of cheetos a'la Brittney Spears, and diet coke after diet coke.
I like to refer to my alter ego as Break-The-Glass-On-The-Vending-Machine-Martha.
And before anyone says ANYTHING... no... I'm not pregnant. Sadly, I can reach this fevered state of eating everything in sight all on my own, without the influence of an impending baby. What can I say? Oink Oink?
And at some point, enough is enough. My fingers start to swell, my heart starts to race from the five diet cokes I've consumed since breakfast, and despite the fact that Matt assures me it isn’t so, I'm convinced that my ankles will one day reach Hilary Clinton cankle level.
So it's back on the healthy bandwagon. Back to cucumbers and baked chicken. Back to butterless baked potatoes and apple slices. Back to drinking, gulp, water. And while I look forward to buttoning my pants and wearing wedgie-less underwear yet again… Martha and I will miss our daily dates with the vending machine.