Today the unbelievable happened. This morning I woke up afraid of food. Is my soft, ten-pounds-heavier-than-it-should-be body rejoicing? Hell no. It’s crying! I. Love. Food. There. I said it. I do. I love to cook it. I love to smell it. And oh my, I love to eat it. So imagine my angst when for the past nine days I have been plagued by the most painful gas. EVER. (I told you from the beginning that I was going to be honest on here. You’re welcome.) I have no idea where this is coming from so my mom has been desperately searching in one of my dad’s self-help ailment books as to what I can or cannot eat. One book says no potatoes. But I said screw you, book, I ate the potatoes on Friday night and again on Sunday night and I was fine. Until yesterday. I ate the potatoes again and I was doubled over in pain within minutes. How can something so small and delicious (baked, topped with butter and my fave condiment – salsa) cause me that much pain??
The smart girl in me would have avoided my mom’s enchiladas last night or the chips and salsa OR the pan dulce that husband brought home last night. But I am brave. I am a risk taker. I am hungry. And guess what? I was fine!! Oh rejoice!!! I am healed!
But this morning my healed body woke up afraid. And hungry. What if I ate my whole-grain toast with almond butter and jelly and I began to die my painful death once more – and this time at work? No one at work would understand why I would be lying on the floor rubbing Vicks on my belly (another mom ailment that works WONDERS!!). So, I decided to starve and take an orange and a bottle of water to work with me (as opposed to my regular buffet line that usually accompanies me on a daily basis). When I called my parents to say good morning guess what my mom said she read in that book of hers? No oranges. Fabulous. My life, as I know it, is officially over.