Yesterday I did something I haven’t done in years. I pigged out. I stuffed a whole box of cookies down my throat because I couldn’t stop
If you have no understanding of pigging out, then nothing I say here will be of interest to you. Either your eating habits are under control or you actually prefer carrots over carrot cake. In any case, we can’t possibly relate, so you’re dismissed.
While I do suffer from periodic bouts of Overeateritis, pigging out is not really my style, although I have been known to carry two or three extra chicken wings into the closet, when no one is looking.
After dropping Mighty Marc at the doctor for a routine visit, I browsed through a nearby Trader Joe’s Market. If you’ve never shopped at a Trader Joe’s, be grateful. I never leave that store without depleting my checking account. Trader Joe’s sells healthful and organic foods. Unfortunately, neither of those adjectives rules out the extensive variety of calorie-laden goodies they also have. Had I the brains of a peanut I’d have shopped next door for shoes, instead.
My shopping cart was overflowing with multi-grain breads, high fiber spelt crackers, raw almonds, brown rice and organic vegetables, when I spotted the cookie display. I swear those cookie boxes blinked, and beckoned me with flashing neon letters.
I don’t even like store-bought cookies, unless you count Mallomars and chocolate covered graham crackers, which I allow to enter my mouth once a year, after swim suit season has passed and I know that the inevitable collateral damage can be camouflaged with bulky winter sweaters.
The description on the boxes said thin, crisp, almond cookies. I tried to ignore them, but no matter what I did I could see them winking and hear them screaming passionately, like high-spirited gospel singers. They even rhymed.
“We know you can hear us.
We know you’re not blind.
We want to contribute
to your ample behind.
Sing Hallelujah!”
I wanted to stay on course and not give in to impulse buying but those damn cookies wouldn’t let up. People stared, forcing me to return to the cookie aisle where I yanked a box off the shelf and slapped it into my shopping cart. Anything to make them shut up.
Even before I reached the car my trembling hands had ripped the box apart. One taste and I was hooked. As long as I shoved those scrumptious monsters into my mouth they were quiet. The minute I stopped chewing they started screaming again, so I pulled over and stuffed the irritating culprits into the trunk.
I picked up Mighty Marc, drove home and placed the cookies on my kitchen counter. Realizing I was in danger of polishing off the entire box, I asked my husband to tie my hands behind my back. He winked and said, “I’ll meet you in the bedroom.”
Tossing the cookies into the garbage wasn’t an option. I’ve been known to retrieve chocolate from the trash and scarf it down before you could say bacteria.
In less than an hour I had devoured the entire box of cookies. My stomach gurgled and undulated from left to right with each step I took.
As retribution for my sin I forced myself to go to the gym on a day I wasn’t scheduled to be there. I lifted weights, did sit-ups, and rode 10 miles on the stationary bike. I’m proud to say I worked off 82 of the 3,496 calories I consumed, and I’m only up two dress sizes.
Overeating is an enormous problem in the United States. Apparently it’s even extended to wild life in my part of rural New Jersey. Driving to the gym I saw a sign that read, “Heavy Deer Area.” I have to wonder what this world is coming to when overweight deer are forced to live separately from slim ones.
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