While I wholeheartedly respect him for having the chutzpa to lose 110 pounds by portion control and exercise, I am creeping closer and closer to my wit's end, and it's due to two words. DIET FOOD.
Brantley does most of the grocery shopping, as well as the laundry (shut-up, I'm a princess). Those are great things, but the food he comes back with has grown increasingly harder to force down. Aside from produce, we have no normal food in the house. Everything has the words, "high," or "low" on it. For instance, I just ate a turkey and cheese high-fiber wrap that consisted of low-sodium turkey and low-fat cheese. The fiber is what's killing me. I'm breaking wind every time I move. Luke doesn't even think it's funny any more.
I went to the fridge this evening to fetch the ice-cream that I requested per the grocery list. Words cannot express the feeling of a soul being crushed, but I tell you that I felt it when I read the words, "Fat Free Chocolate." I forced it down, but I didn't enjoy it, and I voiced my opinion on the matter.
I like being healthy as much as the next person, but I still need my comfort food. I'm ok with having a figure that says, "I workout sometimes, but yeah, I eat cornbread." My best friend calls this being "supple." Yes, I can handle being supple, but it's growing harder and harder considering my lack of supplies.
So I'll be packing away emergency rations starting tomorrow. Each one will contain Little Debbie cakes, buttered popcorn, honey roasted peanuts, and of course, Diet Coke.
July 4, 2010
October 3, 2011