Your Diet is Killing Me

My morning did not start out so good on Sunday. I slept for a really long time and expected to just sit on the couch for about twelve hours watching TV shows on Amazon Prime, which I accidentally purchased a couple of days ago. It wasn’t until I started to make my morning coffee that I realized that it was going to be a bad day. When I opened the fridge to get the milk, I saw that it had an expiration date that had well passed. I’d actually been drinking it for a few days after it expired. It didn’t even taste bad. Also, I read an article that expiration dates on food products are picked rather conservatively, so a lot of people are throwing out good food before it goes bad. So yeah, I’m going to listen to that piece of advice, mostly because I’m lazy.

sourmilkBut this milk had some chunks floating in it so I figured it was time to say good-bye. That of course meant that I didn’t have anything to put in my coffee.

I walked into the bedroom where Sebastien was still sleeping and jumped on the bed next to him. “The milk is bad and I don’t have anything to put in my coffee,” I whined, kicking my feet on the bed to make sure he would wake up. He rolled over. “There’s soy milk in the fridge,” he said.

“But I can’t drink that. It makes me even gassier than dairy and you don’t want me stinking up the house all day.”

He was already snoring before I finished my plea. He’s so healthy now with his soy milk and limited desserts and calorie counting. It makes me sick. And the worst part is that he taught me all of my bad eating habits: dessert every night, ordering butter or lard-filled dishes at restaurants. I’ve developed such a sweet and meat tooth that there’s no stopping me now. I even eat like him when we first started dating, which means shoveling the food into my mouth without a care that there’s pasta sauce all over my cheeks and nose or that strands of spaghetti are dangling from my mouth to make me look like the bearded lady. I used to be the healthy one in the relationship, but I guess I’ve just decided it was time to let myself go.

A few years ago I did give Sebastien instructions to inform me when I was getting too fat by way of a post-it note. The note, which I composed, read: I love you Amy, but you’re getting too fat. Sebastien at first refused to do it. I reminded him that in this case he was only acting as the mailman so he was free of any consequences. I’m pretty sure he threw the note out anyway.

It’s just hard to eat like we once did. I’ll go to the grocery store and pick up cheese-filled fish or barbecue pork. When I get home Sebastien inspects the packages, usually mumbling something about high in cholesterol or a lot of fat. I guess some people change and grow and start eating healthy crap.

Although I do have to give him credit for bringing me desserts. For the most part, whenever I declare that I want carrot cake from Peacefood cafe at 9:30pm, Sebastien willingly puts on his coat and shoes and gets it for me. It’s happened so many times that the wait staff refer to him as “the guy who gets dessert for his wife.” So yeah, that’s pretty awesome.

These thoughts all popped into my head as I stood in the living room, half-dressed, to begrudgingly go out and get a new carton of milk for myself. I didn’t want to do it. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. I started stomping my feet like a little kid having a temper tantrum, while my cat, Siegfried, watched with indifference from his perch in the loft.

I caved. I dropped everything and grabbed the soy milk out of the fridge to pour into my coffee. It actually wasn’t bad and it was vanilla flavored so I was into that. I suddenly remembered my days of being a fake vegetarian and vegan. I did it mostly to find an identity in high school and to piss off my family, who had to make special meals for me because I professed to care about the animals. Of course, whenever no one was looking I’d grab chunks of meatloaf leftovers in the fridge or wolf down cold cuts.

I eventually admitted that I was not a vegetarian, although I do like soy products sometimes. It was nice to come out of the closet and embrace who I really am: a carnivore. I guess we all change, or make adjustments accordingly. Although it’s easy to slip back into our old habits, especially when it comes to eating right. Hey, maybe I can pretend to be a vegan again to really piss Sebastien off.

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About JadedBride

Amy Kraft is a print and radio journalist based in New York. Her work has appeared in publications including Scientific American, Discover, Popular Science, The Week, Psychology Today, and Distillations, a podcast out of the Chemical Heritage Foundation. She is currently working on a book of humor essays. View all posts by JadedBride

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