There is so much I could say about this subject, but honestly we all know what dieting is:
- Watching someone in the grocery store strut around carrying cheesecake while you resist temptation yourself and secretly pretend the vegetables in your cart are more exciting foods. (Portobello mushrooms = ugly cookies)
- Weighing and then moving your scale around to various places in your house to see if you weigh less there.
- Literally trying to weigh less.
Okay, okay. I get that dieting is also a “health thing” and I should call it a “lifestyle change” and that is all totally fine and good but I also have a closet full of cute clothes I want to get back into. Clothes that require me to (sigh) exist as a smaller version of my current self.
A strict diet is kind of like an adult “time out” where you have to go in the corner and “think about what you’ve done” or in this case, what you ate. This has a few different effects on me… giving up the foods that give me joy not only sends me barreling through all five stages of grieving in the impressively quick course of a few minutes, it also makes me nostalgic.
Not only does it make me ponder my choices, but suddenly being deprived of the caloric and deliciously unhealthy sustenance I crave, I begin thinking of food that I haven’t cared about in years, or have maybe have never cared about. Memories flood my anguished taste buds.
When I was little, maybe about 10, I used to go to this flea market on Saturdays with my mom. There was a vendor there who made these little miniature donuts. They weren’t donut holes (this is a very important distinction to make…) just small versions of a regular donut. At any rate, they were delicious and objective proof that good things come in small packages. I haven’t thought about these things in years and the day I start dieting I find myself immediately missing these little mini donuts. I already have enough trouble dealing with not being able to eat regular donuts that I pass in my adult life, but now being haunted by childhood donuts is just unbearable.
Maybe it’s not even the food I’m ultimately missing. Maybe it’s just a simpler world. A simpler time when I could actually eat a mini donut and not have to worry about the fact that I was actually EATING A MINI DONUT. Oh, to have the faith and dietary freedom of a child.
But those flea market mini donuts were really good though, weren’t they?