I had to end my affair with eating junk food in bed.
I don't remember how this started. I was raised by a mother who didn't allow us to have water in our bedrooms, much less food. If we were thirsty, we went to the bathroom and drank tap water. My sons knew I would freak out over finding food and/or drinks in their rooms, and I did-both find and freak-especially when son #1 took to chewing tobacco when playing college baseball. Have you ever seen chaw spit in a Gatorade bottle???
Towards the end, Wingman took to eating and drinking in bed. At first, I would go into my "How many times..." speech until it just fell on deaf ears. I took to just removing the plates and bottles until he passed. After seeing the white bedroom carpet stained beyond repair from spills, I redecorated with new sage green carpet and walls-the king is dead...long live the queen.
And I didn't eat in bed for quite a while. I was content at the beginning sitting on plumped pillows, reading my mail and watching TV. And cutting coupons for groceries. Oh yes, lots of coupons. Lots of SNACK coupons. I never found a coupon for carrot sticks, but I found them for snacks. Cookies, chips, pretzles, dips. And Ice Cream. My freezer and pantry were filled to overflowing-not with food, but with SNACKS. So much so that I missed having my second fridge (the one that got flooded in Sandy) in the laundry room so I could keep that freezer filled too.
Then I discovered HERR. My gay obsession. Honey Cheese Curls. Golden. Sweet. A little saucy. I looked for HERR everywhere I went. I found HERR in the grocery store, at the deli, in the liquor store. And I loved HERR with a little white wine. Some nights there was a glass of Pinot Grigio on the nightstand next to HERR and me.
The first time I noticed that I had changed was two weeks ago when I pulled out a suit for an interview. I noticed that the pants were quite snug, and that the jacket didn't button. Last weekend I started getting my clothes ready for the change of season. I tried on a couple of pairs of pants and had to lie down on the bed to pull up the zipper. My "muffin top" spilled over, making the buttons of my shirt strain with all the added fat oozing up. Houston, we have a problem.
On Sunday night, after a late and crazy close at work, I decided to watch the football game. I took a beer with me and HERR into the room, and that's when it happened...as I turned on the light, I dropped the bottle on the new carpet, spilling Leinenkugel's Orange Shandy everywhere. There I was in loose-fitting flannel pajamas, (the only ones that fit) with HERR in my arms and a soggy carpet. Right then and there, I knew I needed to break it off. Because I wanted HERR more than I wanted to hold onto that beer. And if I didn't stop, I feared that one day the fire department would have to cut a hole in my bedroom wall to remove a 500 pound version of me from my house.
Yesterday, I emptied the pantry. Out went the Girl Scout cookies, bought in guilt from a co-worker and eaten because they were there. Into the trash went the opened bags of snacks and chips, the frost bitten half gallon containers of ice cream.
It took all my willpower though, to say "good bye" to HERR. I put used coffee grinds in the bag, so I wouldn't be tempted into pulling HERR out for one more delicious go...
But if by some strange chance, you see me out with HERR, rip HERR from my arms and tell me that you're doing it for all the right reasons.
My waist, thighs and butt will thank you for it.