It started at Whole Foods on Sunday when I went to stock up on all the necessities I've run through in the past few months. I was literally down to some ginger root in the freezer. (Not snackable, you might note! That is on purpose!) I decided to treat myself with a little something special to add to my daily salads (made on Sunday for the entire week, the only way I can escape spending $10 a day on lunch) and grabbed a package of dried fruit and nuts.
Just to think I'm healthy, I checked the calorie count. Oh only 120 per servings. No problem. Fifteen servings. Hmm.
Unfortunately Satan himself sat next to me on the bus on the way home from the store. By 'next to me' I mean on my shoulder. Just have a little snack! You just spent two hours at the gym! Shut up evil snack promoter! One of those hours was just lying there in Pilates, you know nothing. Once I start, I can't stop!
Who am I kidding? I didn't fight back. There I was, on the cross-town bus, munching on trail mix like a stupid little squirrel with an unlimited Metrocard.
But obviously it didn't end there. Putting away my groceries: snack, snack, snack. Making my salads: munch, munch, munch. Concocting the most delicious butternut squash soup with The BFF: snack, snack, snack.
It was not pretty. By the time we finally left our apartment to meet up with some friends, that bag was almost gone. You're a bunch of Mathletes, figure out that diet destruction.
I know perfectly well I have a crippling weakness when it comes to the ability to control my caloric consumption. And this was a test of personal strength. I failed.
Clearly I can't allow myself to have snack food in the house. But it dawned on me - what if someday I live with someone who needs snacks?? (The BFF is not a snacker, thank goodness.)
Like what if I
He better hide that shit, otherwise it won't be pretty. He'll probably need to get some serious hardware. Bear and/or raccoon proof should do the trick. Maybe.
But also keep in mind that I'm really cunning. Some might say, smarter than a bear and/or raccoon. Which I guess is a plus. Unless of course you live with me and want to eat normal food.
Hahahaha, oh... how I understand. I'm the exact same way. Simply *can't* keep snacks in the house. And then, a year ago... I married a diabetic. A type I. The type that needs snacks in case he goes low.
ReplyDeleteIn case you're wondering... yes, I blame him for the 5 pounds I've put on since the wedding. It's OBVIOUSLY his fault. Gah.