Crackers, the food of the devil
I'm afraid of a damn cracker. A Ritz cracker. It's freaking me out.
It hasn't grown a face or started chasing me around the room laughing evilly, but it sends frissons of fear down my spine, nonetheless.
See, I actually ate a cracker last week. I had scooped up a big spoonful of peanut butter and was ready to slurp it slowly off the spoon when I thought to myself "Self, this would be awesome on a cracker." Now, there are restriction about having this surgery, such as eating nothing but protein first. Sure, I'm sure there's nothing wrong with having a cracker or two - I've seen other weight-loss surgery patients have crackers. Still, my hand hesitated over the open cracker box, refusing to casually dip in and snag a buttery round. Could I have just one?
I let my hand drop into the box and I fished around for a whole cracker. I carefully ate it, liberally smeared with peanut butter, in four bites. I also finished my peanut butter spoonsickle. There shouldn't have been any guilt, but I found some cowering deep down in my psyche and dragged it out. How could I have eaten a cracker? it railed at me. I can't get 100 grams of protein in every day. How on earth could I justify giving up valuable stomach space to a fat-laden, carbohydrate-drenched disc? Why could I not just be satisfied with my tasty protein? You know, it seethed, this is just like you! You have this surgery and then instantly try to sabotage it by stuffing your gullet with carbohydrates. You have such an addictive personality - next you're going to be a crack monkey lying unconscious in a back alley, all strung out, or worse, dead like that model, Gia, because you couldn't control yourself. Damn, girl, it spat, you disgust me. Go ahead. Eat your crackers. I couldn't care less, because you're dead to me.
That little smidgen of guilt packs a mighty wallop. She's a vituperative little shit. It's amazing I have such guilt, given my lack of religion, but that's a different story. So now, I'm still afraid of that cracker. Not for itself, but for what it represents, I guess. A lack of self-control or a fear of success.
Damn crackers. I can only imagine what Guilt would have said had it been an Oreo.
It hasn't grown a face or started chasing me around the room laughing evilly, but it sends frissons of fear down my spine, nonetheless.
See, I actually ate a cracker last week. I had scooped up a big spoonful of peanut butter and was ready to slurp it slowly off the spoon when I thought to myself "Self, this would be awesome on a cracker." Now, there are restriction about having this surgery, such as eating nothing but protein first. Sure, I'm sure there's nothing wrong with having a cracker or two - I've seen other weight-loss surgery patients have crackers. Still, my hand hesitated over the open cracker box, refusing to casually dip in and snag a buttery round. Could I have just one?
I let my hand drop into the box and I fished around for a whole cracker. I carefully ate it, liberally smeared with peanut butter, in four bites. I also finished my peanut butter spoonsickle. There shouldn't have been any guilt, but I found some cowering deep down in my psyche and dragged it out. How could I have eaten a cracker? it railed at me. I can't get 100 grams of protein in every day. How on earth could I justify giving up valuable stomach space to a fat-laden, carbohydrate-drenched disc? Why could I not just be satisfied with my tasty protein? You know, it seethed, this is just like you! You have this surgery and then instantly try to sabotage it by stuffing your gullet with carbohydrates. You have such an addictive personality - next you're going to be a crack monkey lying unconscious in a back alley, all strung out, or worse, dead like that model, Gia, because you couldn't control yourself. Damn, girl, it spat, you disgust me. Go ahead. Eat your crackers. I couldn't care less, because you're dead to me.
That little smidgen of guilt packs a mighty wallop. She's a vituperative little shit. It's amazing I have such guilt, given my lack of religion, but that's a different story. So now, I'm still afraid of that cracker. Not for itself, but for what it represents, I guess. A lack of self-control or a fear of success.
Damn crackers. I can only imagine what Guilt would have said had it been an Oreo.
posted by Peevish McSnark at
11:25 PM
3 Comments:
No need to get out the hair shirt for one cracker.
TWO crackers, though, are terrible, so we're all just glad you didn't cross that line.
By
Anonymous, At
1:23 PM
Have you had a problem with food making you sick? My sil had gastric bypass and periodically foods would send her (literally) running to the potty.
By
M, At
11:26 PM
No, but then I didn't have the traditional gastric bypass, either. I had the Duodenal Switch, which is easier on what you can eat and preserves your stomach's natural entrance and exit. It's a terribly complicated operation.
By
Peevish McSnark, At
12:05 AM
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