I can longer grace my local Red Lobster with my presence. Once inside I cannot be tamed. I can polish off an entire basket of their warm, buttery, savory, garlicky, fluffy biscuits with no help from other patrons. My Goodness. Thinking about that batch of buttery obesity makes me want to drive to the Miamisburg location right now, and devour them like a python with an unhinged jaw around a plump field mouse. The same goes for Panera and their moist, perfectly confected shortbread cookies. I swear, if these were the last thing available to eat during an apocalypse I would have to make some hard life decisions, i.e. other may starve. I just might fist fight, Brad Pitt style, with anyone who comes between me and my sweet.
However, since diabetes, heart disease, obesity, and all other un-fun, unhealthy risk factors involving weight gain exist, I must resist. I must remove these delectably divine goodies from my memory bank. I must drink my fluoride tap water, slice up my jolly green granny smith, and toast my low fat, low carb, low in all things pleasing, whole grain wheat bread. No more scrumptious flour based baked goods. No more mouth watering, gluttonous gluten. Whole grain life for me now.
It’s so unfair. Why can’t I have the metabolism of skeletal Kendall Jenner (the only member of the K Clan I have minor respect for)? Why must my body retain every ounce of fat consumed through my lips? Why must my arm jiggle with every wave and reach, reminding me of the extra three double, jumbo chocolate chip cookies I tore to shreds two weeks ago? Why must my stomach bubble over the rim of my jeans like the muffin edges of that brazen cinnamon and raisin muffin I scarfed down last Sabbath?
Everything has to be slim now. Your waist line, your phone, your computer, your television, your glasses, everything. Don’t get me wrong I want to be healthier. I want to be a decent size. Based on my own recent research, I believe a size ten would suffice. At this size I can go into any department store (preferably Forever XXI) and ball out on all the sexy, adorable clothing I want. At this size I can go into the fitting room happily, and confident the clothes won’t suffocate my figure or tear at the seam. Thankfully I’m not far off, maybe forty pounds to go, which is a way better number than 80. Yeah, I’ve been working hard for the last two years. But honestly, can I have a cheat meal with my favorite non-grain items and not regret it the next day when I’m at the gym doing twenty more crunches because of that indiscretion? I don’t mind vegetables, I love fruit, but sometimes all grain drives me all the way bananas. Mmmm, bananas. Banana bread, yeah . . . No! See the dilemma?
If I could put a little butter on the grain bread, then we’d be in business. But, no, butter clogs arteries. Damn-it!
I’ve heard of the alternatives. The butter made with olive oil, and the baked treats with sugar substitutes, or soy, or other miscellaneous foreign objects. Some of them taste ok. I’ve eaten a decent vegan macaroon, but I could taste the fake all too well. I want my goodies back. Yes grain is healthy, but why does it have to be so . . . blah.