I have been feeling very hungry lately, hungry for all sorts of bad things that one is not supposed to eat. These cravings hit by the middle of the day and, as I have been doing a lot more exercising and such lately, I find them difficult to ignore. I mean, it makes sense to indulge, right? After all, I went running yesterday, so if you could just add an extra helping of chocolate sauce and sprinkles, that’d be great. Thanks. And also, please don’t forget to deep fry it.
Truthfully, I’ve come to the realization that life is too short to ignore my impulses when it comes to food, especially when I force myself to work out on a regular basis. This means that I treat myself nearly everyday, but in moderation of course. Like the other day, when I was craving candy, I went to 7-Eleven and bought exactly what satisfied that particular yen. Unfortunately for me, that meant devouring over eight hundred calories of gummy bears and Nerds Ropes. It was satisfying though, until my teeth fell out onto my desk and prevented me from also eating my Twizzlers.
Today, my craving was for ice cream from the Ben and Jerry’s store located down the block from my work. I set out with the intention of just having a small scoop, but as I was deciding what to order, I noticed the refrigerator behind me was filled with pre-packaged pints. A quick calculation easily showed that the pint was a better investment economically speaking, but a terrible idea for someone with no self-control. I know myself well enough to be sure that, were there a pint of anything in the freezer, I’d eat the whole thing within an hour, cardboard and all.
I figured, however, that the pints were there for a reason and that reason was to help me make a better choice in selecting what kind of ice cream to buy. I opened the door of the freezer and started reading the nutrition facts on the back of each pint, trying to determine which flavor of high-fat, heavy cream, extra sweetened ice cream was the healthiest. See? Sometimes I do exercise restraint.
After looking at six or seven flavors and deciding that I might as well just order a bowl of lard and eat it with a chocolate-covered stick of butter, I let the freezer door slam shut and turned to place my order. As I was turning, though, the Chubby Hubby caught my eye and I grabbed the door again to check if that was the one ice cream that, despite the less than encouraging name, was made with nothing but carrots and air. I enthusiastically ripped the door open, only to find the entire freezer rocking towards me as the door refused to open.
Being me, I was undeterred by almost being crushed by a freezer. I pulled the door as hard as I could several more times before the amused teenager behind the counter dryly informed me that I would need to wait until the vacuum seal was deactivated. Humiliated, I paused for a moment, gave one tremendous final yank on the door that remained shut, turned around, and ordered the first ice cream that came to mind.
As luck would have it, it also happened to be the flavor with the most horrifying nutrition facts. I didn’t give a crap at that point, though, because surely my burning shame had worked off more than enough calories to make it not even count.