Weekends are hardest for me. Not because I have a full house. Not because decibel levels goes up or the days move at a frenetic pace. Not because my husband is home and there are a thousand questions about where this goes or that stays.
No. No. No. It’s all because my pantry is full and I’ve committed the cardinal sin.
I went grocery shopping. . .while hungry.
Such a BAD move.
For some reason, I’m especially vulnerable on Friday evenings. All the bad stuff looks so incredibly good. And what do you know? It all makes a flying leap into my grocery cart. Hmm, yeah. REALLY bad move.
Oh, how I wish I had an automatic reset button that made me reach for carrot sticks instead. Or cucumber wedges. Or, anything remotely healthy. Nuh-uh, I’m a one hundred percent, hand-to-mouth peanut M&M girl. My emotional barometer is directly linked to the amount of little yellow bags I toss into my grocery cart.
Okay, sure, I’m pretty active, but honestly, there’s only so much a body can take.
So, I’m back to asking myself (yet again) the question I can’t seem to answer. Why (for the love of God) do I do this to myself?
Those lovely chocolate coated peanuts might taste great in the moment, but afterward, I’m sick to my stomach and sick of myself. And then, the inevitable beat-up on E.C. begins. I try not to do that--I really do--because what’s done is done. Right? No use crying over spilled milk and all that, but really. . .
So, here I go again. It’s Saturday morning and I’ve got a cupboard full of peanut M&Ms. Oh, the joy! Oh, the horror! Oh, the inevitability! <grin>
And oh, boy. I see a whole lot of jogging in my future.