“I’m cold and hungry. I thought this eating healthy thing was supposed to be doing me some good. I ate two oranges today and I don’t feel one bit better.”
This is part of an actual conversation in my home. I won’t divulge the identity of the speaker. She would rather remain anonymous.
Later in the evening, I ran to the store to pick-up deodorant, milk, and napkins. In that order. In a moment of extreme sugary weakness, I allowed my son to talk me into purchasing individual pies – his chocolate and mine cherry.
In my defense, he is quite persuasive. My son has a future as a lawyer or a criminal. I’d like to think he’ll go into law.
I’ve operated quite successfully for many years in the firm grasp of guilt. My husband says my face screams GUILTY whenever I pass a police car, although I’ve only been ticketed once. It’s not easy carrying around the guilt of my little world, but someone’s gotta do it. So if pressed, I’d confess to the crimes of ten men or women. I’m sure I deserve the punishment anywhoo.
That’s the guilt talking.
The cherry pie nearly immobilized me with guilt.
Am I drowning my sorrows in cherry pie?
Am I eating cherry pie for comfort?
Am I nothing more than a sugar addict?
Yes, yes, YES!
I didn’t eat the cherry pie. It’s still sitting on my counter. Thankfully the preservatives will keep it fresh for years. The guilt of a cherry pie will haunt me until I’m sixty.
I wonder if all the
dieting eating healthy pays off in the end. Will I be rocking in my chair at eighty thanking God Almighty that I ate my carrots? Or, will I be leading my great-grandkids down the slippery road of crime. Will I convince them to smuggle Twix into Dying Waters Rest Home?
I already feel the guilt of two generations to come.
Flash forward forty-five years…
I’m sitting in my rocker with a crocheted blanket on my lap. I’m eating chocolate, cheeseburgers, and fries. I am singing Amazing Grace!
I guess I’ll have to wait a while before I can enter the land flowing with
chocolate and cheese milk and honey.