Monday, August 25, 2008
In the midst of my pregnancy rantings I failed to mention my first (known) fat related injury. It all happened while I was attempting to rid my home of contraband over the weekend. Having been raised in a trailer (ok just for a year or so), you learn not to waste. Translation…that meant that I would have to “eat” the house free of the bad stuff! Mother raised me right and sometimes you have to do what you have to do. So we had these Cinnabons left over from our last house guests. They had been “calling out to me” for weeks. Sweet sticky buns of cinnamon covered with rich sugary icing. OMG! Can you tell I am on my Monday diet?I’m about to lose control. Deep breath. Anyway. So I got up early Saturday morning and made the executive decision not to run. Nope. I was going to make these sticky buns of loveliness for…my husband. Yeah that’s it. He was still asleep when I went to remove them from the oven. I reached in, grabbed for the pan and OUCH…burned my damn hand on the oven rack! Instant blister. That in turn caused one of the buns to slide around in the pan. Well no one likes a messy looking sticky bun so I decided I would eat that one bcs…well bcs I wanted it but the story I am going with was that it made the others look bad…or something. Ok I ate two. One for me and one for my new blister!
I placed the remaining 3 buns on a paper plate. They fit just nicely. I figured if he saw 3 he would assume 1 of 2 things: (1.) That there were originally 4 and I ate one or (2.)That there were originally 3, I didn’t eat one and I was back from my run in time to bake him these lovely treats. I surveyed his face for a clue. I think what I saw was a cross between “my wife is a big fat hog who clearly ate 2 of these buns” and “at least she left me three to work with. ” Either way, he ate 3 for a grand total of 900 calories! I think he still weighs more than me but I can’t be sure. I just tell him that I’m all muscle and it throws him off. After our nutritious breakfast, we headed off to tidy up the rental house. Of course the entire way over I was thinking about what I wanted for lunch. I knew there wouldn’t be time to go back home and those buns would only hold him for a few hours. I started plotting…BK, Wendy’s or McD’s. Hmmm. Generally whomever has the shortest line wins. That’s what happens when you are ADD and Fat. After I cleaned the pool I decided I’d be a good wife and get him some lunch. Translation…biggie needed a feeding!
I headed to Hamburger alley only to see all of the “good” drive-thru’s packed with people. I ended up settling for Burger King. I don’t care for our BK bcs it’s dirty….as evidenced by the short line. But I needed a quick fix so it would have to do. Also at issue with BK…the manor in which you order. At McDonald’s I can say “#2 with a large Coke” and they get the subtle undertone…large everything! They appreciate the fact that I don’t need every other car in line knowing that I’m a closet fatty! When attempting to perform the same stunt at BK I get the following rebuttal, “So you want to King Size it all the way.” What about that sounds good? How does one respond? “Yes, feed me like a King and throw in one of those stupid paper crowns while you are at it so the whole world knows I am eating for two or three! Crown me Queen of the Fatties! Luckily there was no one in line behind me so I think I just said “yeah…(asshole under my breath).” Did you notice that I never go inside for my food? Why get out of the car when God created the perfect system for closet eaters. I keep my shades on and unless they are looking at my plates or have some sort of frequent buyer discount card (cause a sister loves some discounts) they had no way of tracking my visits. It’s a beautiful thing. Except when your credit card company sends you those “end of the year…this is how you spent your borrowed money summaries.” Needless to say, food is about 89.9% of the pie.
I returned to the rental house prepared to gorge. Immediately I was faced with another issue…why you gotta call it a Whopper? Now I am tasked with eating a King Sized Whopper Combo all while attempting to call myself a lady. I was planning on laying in the sun when I was done but the thought of everything I had eaten was making me sick. I headed to the tanning shack where I could get some shameless sun. After that a king size nap and some double stuffed Oreo’s. They were on the disposal list as well. Has anyone thrown up yet? My God! My back was starting to hurt from the weight of the load I suppose. Later that night I went to see my friend Tara and she asked if I was hungry. She hadn’t eaten all day. What’s that like? I said no and left the reasoning to her imagination. Besides, I planned on ordering a pizza when I left anyway! Did you know you can order that jam right online, pay for it with a credit card and it’s at your house in like 30 minutes! God is good! All of this is what led me to the Lord’s house on Sunday with that laundry list I told you about yesterday. I don’t think he was prepared for the likes of me. Pray for me!
So that’s about the most disgusting weekend one could imagine, right? I was going to weigh myself on Sunday but then I thought, “why?” What did I expect to see? According to my math I should have gained exactly 7lbs over the weekend. Ah heck, my clothes still fit so I left well enough alone. So far so good today. My friend Emily tried to lead me astray but I resisted her enticing offer to go to lunch. She doesn’t understand why I can’t go to lunch and order a salad. For the same reason a drunk can’t go to a bar and order a Coke. It’s just not in our genes. Salad means cheese and ranch dressing. The vegetables are an afterthought. I fear going home for the evening. Home alone with myself and no treats. I may go septic. Check on me will you? Later