Tuesday, September 6, 2011

The Big Bopper


Does a year & a half of hard work & nearly 120 lbs gone mean I have this crazy game figured out.  Resoundingly, no. 

New rule to live by for New Sara: Thou Shalt Not Go to the Store Un-Chaperoned.  Appropriate chaperones include, but are not limited to Dave, Lincoln, Coraline, that "Perfect Mom" that makes me feel so envious of her abilities to simultaneously be fun & orderly, anyone who has perfected a judgemental stare--really anyone who will make me think twice about what I'm putting into the cart.

Saturday I made a quick, solo run to the store.  Bananas & buns...that was the list.  Just as I was pulling into the parking lot, an ad came on the radio for Blue Bunny Ice Cream Treats, "you know, the ones in the blue cooler."  By golly as soon as I could picture that pesky blue cooler I KNEW I was walking out of that store with a Big Bopper. 

You would think that the name alone would have been enough to dissuade me from the poor choice at hand.  It's not like this particular item was veiled in confusing packaging spattered with meaningless words like "natural," "fresh" or "low-carb" (that one is my personal favorite as it can be seen on such healthy living staples as full-fat mayo & ranch dressing).  No, no, my poison was well labeled with the name "Big Bopper."  If you've never succumbed to such treats, it's an ice cream sandwich made out of two chocolate chip cookies...big ones (hence the name).  Old Sara had the Big Bopper in regular rotation.  New Sara had one on Saturday.

I knew it was a horrible choice.  I purposely dug it out of the bag & ate in the car (another of my rules to live by--Thou Shalt Not Eat Alone in the Car) without looking at the nutrition info.  By the time I got home from the store I had polished it off & stuck the wrapper in the trash. 

Crossroads: I could take the trash bag out of the car & stick it in the big trash can where Dave would never see it & I would pretend like it never happened OR I could fish the wrapper out of the trash, look at the damage, track it & move on.  I'm proud to say I chose the latter.  Here's the damage if you're not too horrified to look.  I was pretty horrified myself.  So horrified that I avoided the internet all weekend because I knew I had to write about it. 

But, here's the thing.  Contrary to what human nature tries to convince me of, fessing up to my missteps isn't what made them happen.  The damage was already done & whether I say it out loud or not, it happened & I let it happen.  Saying it out loud (which I did when I told Dave about it late Saturday night) is what makes me able to move on & not slip down the slope of "It's Too Lates."  I started over with the next bite & the next choice which is all I can do.  That & never listen to car radio again.

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