I woke up this morning wracked with guilt. And I'm not blaming it on the Cuervo; I'm blaming the cheesecake. The cheesecake I had at Zevely House's brunch yesterday morning, while on a double date. Cheesecake doesn't even go with an omelet—but that didn't stop me.
It was the best cheesecake I've ever had. No one else at my table had desert. No one asked to try it, and I was relieved. I doubt they saw me order it. Once it arrived, I ate quickly and avoided eye contact.
My friend came over during the afternoon. It was nice to see her twice in one day. For some reason, we decided to get into some white wine. I spilled much of mine on the grass in the backyard, but don't worry—-plenty got in. That led to her husband driving over and making margaritas. Thankfully he had both limited time and supplies: we were to have one margarita each.
After one shot of Jose Cuervo, we danced to Double Dutch Bus. I hoped she'd reprise her legendary Tina Turner impersonation, for which I almost dug out the silver metallic platform sandals I wore at my wedding. Thank God I didn't. I'm not sure how either husband would have coped.
The friends left, and that's when the unthinkable happened. I sent my husband to the store for chocolate. This is much more than my hope to lose pounds again; it's about my need to follow an anti-inflammatory diet.
Countless potions, oils, pills, and supplements of questionable value litter our bathroom, which looks like an infirmary. Nothing seems to help my maddening, incurable non-deadly skin condition.
As a vegetarian, my dietary choices are limited. At all costs, I'm to avoid sugar, alcohol, and refined carbohydrates. The list of banned foods is endless. I'm encouraged to enjoy green tea, vegetables, nuts, and tofu. No wonder I behave like an actively abusing heroin addict—-it's hard.
Anecdotal evidence suggests adhering to this infernal diet could help me. After a month of following it religiously, I may know. But "anecdotal" evidence feels pretty damned flimsy when wrestling with an intense sugar craving.
This morning I was subdued. In the mirror, my face appeared puffy and swollen. Morose and repentant, I made coffee for myself. I don't even know why white wine was in the house. I didn't buy it.
That's when I saw the crumpled Reese Cup wrapper on the counter, and it all came back. Last night. How many Reese Cups did I have last night? How many chocolate covered almonds?
One shot of Jose Cuervo. One piece of cheesecake. The wheel of life.
The myth of "post-racialism".
7 hours ago