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This
is a post to my fellow soul sisters who, no matter how many times you drag
yourself to the gym or forgo a burger in favor or celery, will never look like
a twelve year old, anorexic runway model. I’m hoping you can relate because if
a large group of people does something then that something, by definition, is
no longer crazy. Maladaptive and destructive? Sure. But not certifiable.
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Carbohydrates
are my drug of choice. (And, based on the way I abuse this drug, it is a damn
good thing that I never started anything stronger.) Two components factor in to
my perpetual meandering around the kitchen, opening cupboards then fridge in a repetitive
manner. Or, forgoing the kitchen all together in favor of a visit to my dealer’s
drive through window.
One
is the obsessive, compulsive aspect of my personality. When a plan is formed, I become a single
minded driving force, plowing through constraints to obtain that goal. In some ways it is great and a whole lot of
stuff actually gets done. In other ways
it sucks. So when the plan becomes acquisition of a bagel with lox then chances
are good I’ll be headed to Einstein’s.
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The
other component involves stress management and the lack of it. Following the serendipity of dessert is
stressed spelling backwards, there is a correlation to my life situation and
the circumference of my thighs.
Therefore, if I were to write the above story
problem into a formula it would be:
Me OCD
x (ex-husband + litigation) Foolishness = Caloric Intake
____________________________________
Hours Sleeping – Irritating dog behavior____________________________________
Will
you be making a point and any juncture in this post? Why yes! And that is an
excellent question.
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The
point is, after two month of loggerheads about every feasible aspect of
parenting, the result is not a functional and reasonable parenting plan. (Well
obviously!) The result is a need for new foundation garments to accommodate my
accumulation of manifested stress.
Combine
this with another emergent factor. My
kitchen has had no functioning light for several weeks. I’m content to use the illumination from the
fridge but my middle child is here and therefore a light bulb purchasing
venture becomes mandatory.
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So,
for Easter Sunday, we engage in that little known custom of department store
shopping. Evidently, in my area, Easter dresses are accompanied by a run on new
underwear and I am faced with pitiful rummaging options.
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To compound this, there is a big sized girl, like myself, with her boyfriend, requesting his opinion of panty color, cut and design. “But look honey, this one has butterflies.” “Well, I’m not going to be wearing them. You find something that you like.” “But I’m doing this for you!” This effectively blocks and entire isle of desired product.
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However,
determination paid off and the end result is an Easter Bunny basket with big
girl panties and light bulbs.
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