At the root of my love affair is the deep seated association of food as a cure. Not just for hunger, but for depression and stress. Food is also a reward. A means of sharing a meal or celebrating a special occasion. It's something that keeps my hands busy while I watch TV.
As a child, food was rationed. There were six of us kids. We each got one pork chop, one scoop of mashed potatoes, one serving of vegetables and one brownie for dessert. On shopping day, we each got a candy bar.
Then there were the years my husband and I lived in Virginia. On occasion, we would designate a junk food dinner night. On a day when we were both stressed from work, we'd come home, head for the Safeway and pick up our favorite junk foods. Chips, dip, pop, a Sara Lee cake, and my personal vice, Malomars. Alas, we do not abuse ourselves this way anymore, but I imagine the damage has already been done.
These days, our bad foods are limited to chocolate pretzels and the occasional milk shake. My husband's health is an issue. He simply can't eat all that junk anymore. And I am trying to stay away from it myself. This is a lot easier at home, where I don't keep things like donuts and chips. But at work, the environment of stress begs to be soothed by chocolate bars and Fritos. They call to me in dulcet tones from the gleaming vending machines in the cafeteria. It's a daily battle. Me vs. Food. If I were you, I would not put odds on me. It's not that I don't eat healthy foods. It's just that once I'm done eating the fruit, I sabotage my efforts with a handful of Raisinets.
Someday, I hope to be able to walk through the grocery store, oblivious to the fragrant baked goods, the tantalizing snacks and that wicked temptress also known as the candy aisle. In the meantime, I'll just continue my strategy of forsaking fatty foods one day at a time and visualizing myself as a non-foodie. Slim and healthy. The envy of all my cronies.
Sigh.
Pass me a carrot stick, will you? And don't forget the dip!
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