I May be Becoming a Maple Bar

Today I had a maple bar for breakfast. Actually that is a lie. I had a maple bar for my second breakfast. I had smart start cereal with soy milk and a cup of tea with no sugar for breakfast. I started out with such good intentions. Usually my good intentions wear off at the same rate the bottle of wine I have for dinner kicks in. That’s fine because wine is relatively low in calories and before I do too much damage I’m engulfed in a hazy sleep. But today I had no such luck. Today A**** at work brought donuts. Let me put this in perspective for you. A**** is 19. She is our “Administrative Assistant” She Drives a nicer car than I do, lives with her parents, has really cute clothes, a soft voice, sweet demeanor, and would have no difficulty whatsoever using one of her donuts as a hula hoop.
She floated up to me (she does not actually weigh enough for gravity to effect her) and softly said “I brought donuts (insert annoyingly perfect large smile here) they are in the kitchen in you want one.” WANT one? So I went back to my desk. I drank water. I typed up a letter where I was perfectly justified in using strong language and creating a general tone of sternness. But the whole time there was this conversation going on in my head where my grown up self told my much younger and more immature self that it was too early for all that sugar and I didn’t need it anyway. But my younger self reminded my older self of when it was younger. I would go to a birthday party and eat candy and cake and ice cream until I was sick. There would be 2 bites of cake and a big glob of frosting I had been saving for last left on my plate and WHAM! I would feel too ill to finish. Latter that night, when I was at home trying to sleep, the vision of the last bites of cake would haunt me. Why couldn’t I just have eaten it? Would it have been so hard? I would lay there and think that I would give anything to have that cake now. I would swear that next time I would not be so foolish and I would finish it all. But next time I would have the same problem all over again. My younger self asked my older self “when you go home tonight and are lying in bed, will you want that donut?” and I had to admit that I would so we compromised. I would eat a donut while I took my vitamins. About halfway through the maple bar I begin to feel overwhelmingly guilty. Being a stress eater, I still finished the donut (maybe even a bit faster) but I did feel that I needed help. I decided to call on my friends.
I wrote an e-mail all of them. I admitted what I had done and full of hopelessness, asked them if they would come shopping with me for a fat dress to wear to all these weddings I have to attend soon. I go these responses (these are direct quotes)
“you're probably going to turn into a maple bar”
“Yesterday I had a gigantic plate of indian food and two pieces of bread, if it makes you feel better”
“those starbucks sandwiches we like so much... 450 calories are fat and 300 of them saturated”
So now I know that even when I try to be healthy (like the Starbucks sandwich) I mess it up so I will eventually turn into a goop covered pastry but hey, at least all my friend will be there with me right? As scary as the “you are what you eat” thing may be I have a friend who has a much more frightening take on it. Thinking of her mouth as the Mexican border, she thinks of her weight problems the way America thinks of Immigration problems. She will say things like “Awesome! Artichoke dip! That’s going straight to my spare tire!” I asked her about it today and this is what she said (another direct quote)
“it is similar to crossing the border at Mexico. Fish generally swims as far upstream as possible (finally settling down around the thighs), Ethnic foods go straight for the spare tire (as it is a transitional area, almost like a tent city that has just shown up without any sort of authority or jurisdiction, but is growing at an alarming rate), then there are the illegal border crossers such as maple bars that immigration won't let through, but for some reason seem to find themselves inside anyway - those my friends generally begin the downward spiral toward a double chin, settling right along the border, and soon you start to see signs along the freeway depicting mommy and child maple bars running to the freedom that is Southern California (my double chin), and worst of all is the grease pit burger with extra cheese, bacon, french fries, and fat (for good measure) those babies head for the homeland, you know what I'm talking about, that thing that follows you around catching the eyes of black men of all ages spurring nicknames such as shelf-booty - the ass.”

In the end, I still need a fat dress and I think I will spend this beautiful day working overtime at the gym but if I take the leftover chocolate sprinkle donut in the kitchen and stuff the whole thing up A****’s nose I know I will feel better about myself.