I've been trying to behave with my nutrition. I think I've been pretty good. I've set boundaries, I've said no to potlucks, I've declined sweet snacks. Today my boss brings in a big box of donuts and sets them on my desk. Are you serious? Apparently he is. Valerie was standing there and I said, "Valerie, please take these over to that file cabinet over there." I gave the boss the stink-eye and reprimanded him, "hey, I'm trying to be good!"
I watched eager faces come and open the box and then get that look on their face that said, "hmmm, which one do I want? Maple bar? Chocolate covered? Apple Fritter? Sprinkles? Jelly Filled?" OMG! I was dying. I could smell them. I could almost taste the sugar. I really wanted a donut. I don't know why today the craving was so strong.
It wasn't long before I resented each person that took one a little more. I resented their metabolism, I resented their skinny waistlines. I resented their care-free attitude about lard, sugar and doughy deliciousness. Bastards. I saw File Bitch over there peeking in the box. FB is super trim. I did the only thing I could do, I attacked him for being thin. He defended himself by saying he had eaten healthy all day and that he hadn't had one. He was clearly missing the point. The point is, he can have one and his ass will not pop out of his jeans, his muffin will not hang over the muffin cup. He will recover from one incident of donut deliciousness. Then Smarty Pants comes over and informs me that he earns the right to have a donut because he plays basketball a couple times a week and that works it off. Smarty Pants is also super trim. And, playing basketball with a bunch of guys that routinely kick his ass, jam his thumb, beat him up and generally "own him" cannot be considered a donut workout. What about me? I work stuff off. It just isn't the same, I don't have teen-age boy hips. Nothing I could possibly do could erase a donut emergency.
However, I resisted all day. I never had one. That doesn't mean that every time I walked by the box I didn't think about my donut "O" face and what it would be like to smell one, lick the chocolate off my fingers and bite into the doughy heaven that comes from a bread-like dream.
As I was preparing to go home, I walked past where the donuts had been all day one last time. Heavy sigh. I could still smell their presence. I headed to the bathroom to get rid of part of the 72 oz of water that was floating around in my body. The bathroom sobered me right up. That's right, someone had crapped on the floor in the third stall. More disturbing, someone had stepped in it. How does that happen? What circumstance lead to that? All I could think was, maybe it was the donuts? Someone was hovering while dropping a deuce and crapped themselves because they ate all that lard and sugar...and bread-like deliciousness. I guess, in the end, no pun intended, I'm better off. At this point, I'm not sure if I am better off for not eating a donut, or because I learned how to use the potty when I was a toddler.
Here's hoping tomorrow I won't be surrounded by devil food...and become less crass in my story-telling. The donuts just have me all riled up.
I watched eager faces come and open the box and then get that look on their face that said, "hmmm, which one do I want? Maple bar? Chocolate covered? Apple Fritter? Sprinkles? Jelly Filled?" OMG! I was dying. I could smell them. I could almost taste the sugar. I really wanted a donut. I don't know why today the craving was so strong.
It wasn't long before I resented each person that took one a little more. I resented their metabolism, I resented their skinny waistlines. I resented their care-free attitude about lard, sugar and doughy deliciousness. Bastards. I saw File Bitch over there peeking in the box. FB is super trim. I did the only thing I could do, I attacked him for being thin. He defended himself by saying he had eaten healthy all day and that he hadn't had one. He was clearly missing the point. The point is, he can have one and his ass will not pop out of his jeans, his muffin will not hang over the muffin cup. He will recover from one incident of donut deliciousness. Then Smarty Pants comes over and informs me that he earns the right to have a donut because he plays basketball a couple times a week and that works it off. Smarty Pants is also super trim. And, playing basketball with a bunch of guys that routinely kick his ass, jam his thumb, beat him up and generally "own him" cannot be considered a donut workout. What about me? I work stuff off. It just isn't the same, I don't have teen-age boy hips. Nothing I could possibly do could erase a donut emergency.
However, I resisted all day. I never had one. That doesn't mean that every time I walked by the box I didn't think about my donut "O" face and what it would be like to smell one, lick the chocolate off my fingers and bite into the doughy heaven that comes from a bread-like dream.
As I was preparing to go home, I walked past where the donuts had been all day one last time. Heavy sigh. I could still smell their presence. I headed to the bathroom to get rid of part of the 72 oz of water that was floating around in my body. The bathroom sobered me right up. That's right, someone had crapped on the floor in the third stall. More disturbing, someone had stepped in it. How does that happen? What circumstance lead to that? All I could think was, maybe it was the donuts? Someone was hovering while dropping a deuce and crapped themselves because they ate all that lard and sugar...and bread-like deliciousness. I guess, in the end, no pun intended, I'm better off. At this point, I'm not sure if I am better off for not eating a donut, or because I learned how to use the potty when I was a toddler.
Here's hoping tomorrow I won't be surrounded by devil food...and become less crass in my story-telling. The donuts just have me all riled up.
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