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Wednesday, January 31, 2007

Junk Food

By Marsha Jordan

Are you the type of person who eats when you're stressed? I am. I eat when I'm stressed, when I'm sad, when I'm happy, and when I'm tired. I believe there's a food for every mood.

I eat for any reason at any time. I eat when I'm watching television, I eat while riding in the car, and I even eat while sitting at the computer. There are enough crumbs in my keyboard to feed a troupe of boy scouts. Every once in a while, I just shake it over the table and announce to the husband, "Dinner's ready!"

I eat too much, too often. Since I was a kid, I've had a weight problem. I could never weight for the next meal. I began wearing a girdle to school in kindergarten, and I've been on diets for most of my life.

I recently began yet another new eating regimen. Forbidden food groups include appetizers and desserts, anything processed or fried, and anything with meat or dairy products in it. I must also avoid all foods seen on TV commercials or restaurant menus. I cannot eat anything prepared by my grandma, Aunt Hildegard, my third cousin twice removed, or any other member of the family. It's called the Oriental Diet. I can eat all I want from the specified food list (celery, kale, bok choi, and those tiny ears of corn), but I must use only one chopstick.

This week, I've failed miserably at sticking to my eating plan. I've had an insatiable appetite for junk food. In addition to a dumpster load of Hostess Twinkies, I've devoured roughly eleven cases of raspberry Fig Newtons and eight and a half pounds of extra crunchy Cheetos. I can't be sneaky about it either. When the husband asks if I've eaten all the Cheetos, how can I look innocent when my fingers and teeth are orange?

Wouldn't you think that after stuffing myself with junk food all week I'd be satisfied? I'm not. In fact, the more I eat, the more I crave. If I continue this way, I'll need a front end loader to lift my carcass out of the Lazy Boy.

To make matters worse, I don't get enough exercise. But I really can't do much that's physical, because I think I pulled a fat cell. I'm barely able to crawl to the kitchen for six square meals a day.

I really need to lose weight. I want to know how it feels to bend over and tie my shoes without cutting off the blood supply above my waist and feeling as if my intestines are being pushed out my ears. It would be great to zip my jeans without fainting from lack of oxygen. So I must get back on track. I'll paste on my refrigerator door that old proverb uttered by some wise sage: "If it tastes good, spit it out."

From now on, I'll plan my meals around a main dish of parsley. Only nutritional foods will pass my lips, like rutabagas, spinach, and celery -- stuff that takes half an hour to chew. By the time I swallow them, my aching jaws will be too tired to munch extra-crunchy Cheetos or anything else. Now if I could only figure out a way to make veggies taste like turtle cheesecake.


Marsha Jordan is the author of "Hugs, Hope, and Peanut Butter": (Amazon info)

Visit her official website:

Copyright 2007 Marsha Jordan. Permission is granted to send this to others, with attribution, but not for commercial purposes.


The race is not always to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, but that's the way to bet.


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Sarah said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Sarah said...

Sorry, messed up the first one. Anyhoo, thanks for the hilarious post, I laughed out loud a lot. But you know, it made me think a little in the end, about how every woman hates her body just a little. Psychologists call it "normative discontent," this self-criticism that most American woman indulge in regularly. It is not, however, considered normal in men. Men pat their guts affectionately as they throw back more chips. Woman stand on the scale and think self-loathing thoughts. It's frustrating to me, this double standard. I'm trying lately to acknowledge my body for what it does (i.e., pregnancy,birthing, breast-feeding,) not just for how it looks.

Swistle said...

This is making me hungry. Mmmmm, Twinkies.

Mommy Daisy said...

I agree Desperate Housewife, I never felt better about my body than when I was pregnant or nursing. I felt like that's what I was supposed to be doing. But otherwise, I usually have a hard accepting who I am. Not that I don't need some work, but ...oh you know what I mean. Thanks.