Friday, November 16, 2012

Well Hello There, Cookie

Last night I went out with a friend. Out. Me. Without children or a grocery list. My friend Ramona also has a large family and one little boy with autism who attends the same school as Noah. Common ground always makes for good conversation. Which there was.

I wasn't hungry when I left, but I was tired, overwhelmed and stressed out. It's been that kind of a couple of months. At any rate we wound up at Menchie's. I glanced around as we entered, and I found myself thinking, "I wonder if they frown upon people sticking their heads under the frozen yogurt faucets and just fillin' 'er up?" I didn't ask, and I didn't attempt it since there, you pay by how much your food weighs. I didn't feel like standing on their countertop scale to weigh myself before and after filling my head with cake batter frozen yogurt. So around the line we toddled with our cups, like good little customers, perusing the legends informing us of gluten/sugar/dairy content. I ended up getting only a little bit, with some cookie dough thrown in for good measure, since I have no use for frozen desserts of any kind without some sort of dough, of some sort of baked good, mixed into it.

As a side note, I never understand how some places decide what they're going to sell. A frozen yogurt place sells just that, with numerous mix-ins- perfectly sensible. But then, wait! Yes! We must also sell lip balm! Um, what? No Post-It pads? No scented markers? No emery boards? Fro-yo and flavoured lip balm. It struck me as being totally bizarre, so naturally I bought one. Pink lemonade. It's quite yum.

Later as I was attempting to fall asleep, knowing it was pointless since the little toad would undoubtedly be making the first of his many nighttime appearances at any moment, I got thinking about my earlier urge to dunk my head under a spicket of free flowing frozen yogurt, and realized that I'm pretty sure there is something wrong with me. Well, lots of things, actually, but when it comes to food, the relationship is at best, dysfunctional. My inclination is to eat when I'm stressed, tired, mad, worried, sad- whether or not I'm hungry. Generally not celery sticks that I reach for, either. When I feel over all fine, I am the healthiest of the healthy. Green drinks, amazing vegetarian meals, as much organic as we can manage... but it's junk I want when things are a bit more gloomy or rough. I think, in part, it's because junk food has a certain reliability. Even a batch of cookies that doesn't turn out perfectly still tastes quite good. Don't get me wrong, I will sit and eat perfectly ripe strawberries and pomegranates all day long, but fruits and vegetables tend to be a bit more temperamental in their ability to be exactly what you want them to be upon taking that first bite. I can't count on an apple being crisp, juicy, and not at all mealy every time I grab one. There's the bit about chocolate, serotonin, all that too, I suppose.

It's time for some other coping mechanism. No idea what that might be. As I sit here with my perfectly lip-balmed lips with the smell of freshly baked cinnamon rolls wafting through my kitchen. I'm hopeless.

1 comment:

SOvalid said...

Love this! You are not alone, something is wrong with me as well:) I'm gonna go bake some delightful comfort.