I just had an egg sandwich with a little bit of avocado nicely smeared on the bread. I ate this morning at a celebrity’s house, but I ate light because I was nervous. All went well, so I came back famished and had that egg sandwich with a slice of cheese and ample avocado.
Now I’m a little churning-in-the-stomach kind of feeling.
It reminds me of when I used to babysit when I was around 13 or 14 years old.
I babysat for a nice Jewish family. They had two little boys. One was maybe 8 and the other around 5. I would babysit so the parents could have a nice night out. I got the job because I was their papergirl. Yep, I used to drop the paper off at their house and one day the mom said, “Do you babysit?” I said, “Hell yeah!” (Without the hell, of course.) I loved the idea of having extra money and making that money in front of a television. Pretty soon, I quit the paper route because it’s freezing on the east coast and a paper route pays for sh*t. But, the nice Jewish family – they paid me well.
I also thought of their house as the, “Forbidden Food Palace.”
They had everything a kid could ever want. The mom said “help yourself” and that was all I needed. I did help myself. Again and again.
I ate so much that one time after coming home from babysitting, I threw up. Do you know how many pretzels and Doritos one has to eat to actually make yourself throw up? It’s a lot, I can assure you.
The boys were sort of annoying, truth be told. I remember them only wanting to watch some kind of program where the guy was a MacGyver-ish helicopter pilot. I hated that show. It had no plot. It was total testosterone and totally boring. So, after engaging them for a few hours, I’d put them to bed. I looked forward to having a run of the tv and a righteous pillaging of my boss’s cupboards.
Thank god, things have changed and I can now buy whatever I want, in the food department. But, as a kid, my parents hid the good stuff. My mom hid cookies and crackers. I’m not sure from whom…probably from me and my brother or my dad or -hell- even herself. The truth is, none of us could be trusted.
My family possesses the genetic ability to polish off anything delicious all in one sitting.
Wifesy’s dad never eats like that. He’s a short man and he eats like a bird. A half a sandwich here, a bit of an apple there. One cookie at night, an egg in the morning. Wifesy can go hours without eating too. When I do, I’m a total b*tch.
The Wifesy family eating habits remind me of a bit a comedian friend of mine tells that goes like this…
“Eat like a bird, fuck like a bird…”
That’s really all you need to know about the joke.
Lord knows, I don’t want to think about Wifesy’s dad in the bedroom. However, there’s something telling in that statement. Do you want to nibble things? Or do you want to grab life, gnaw on it, swallow it down, and enjoy it?
Stopping just before the point of throwing up, that is.
I think addicts have to learn the stopping before the throwing up part. Anal retentives need to learn the push the boundaries of your controlling place, a touch more.
Me – I need to fall somewhere in the middle. Further north than deprivation and just short of regurgitation.
Maybe this is what they mean by, “everything in moderation?”
My lovelies, there’s a great new post up at Canadica by the wonderful Ems of the Waiting. She talks about Caesars and Korea and then somehow even Canada. It’s feckin’ amazing! Make sure to go and check that out when you have a moment today.
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