Sometimes when D goes out of town, I cheat. And not just innocent flirting - we're talking overindulgent, hardcore cheating.
When we were still living in DC, it was much easier because D traveled so much. Now he's home most of time, which means that I'm usually on my best behavior. But when he's gone, I'm like a recovering drug addict that relapses.
Earlier this year, D went out of town for about a week, and I had huge plans while he was out. I'd spent so much time planning, researching and daydreaming that he couldn't leave soon enough. Trying ward off any guilt that I anticipated feeling after going through with my plans, I decided it was in my best interest to go for a run. That always makes me feel better.
With each step, all I could think of was "Tonight's the night. Tonight's the night." After a few miles I couldn't take anymore, so I hightailed it back home to shower, then hopped in the car to come face-to-face with my vice.
As a kid, my mother used to go the tanning bed frequently. There was a Little Caesar's pizza two doors down, and my sister and I loved to tag along because it promised a feast of pizza and Crazy Bread while mom roasted her tush. I couldn't tell you the last time I'd had Little Caesar's, certainly not in my adult life, but after they kicked off a pulsing ad campaign last year for their $5 Hot n' Ready, the memories came flooding back. I'd immediately searched for the closest location and was devastated when there wasn't a single Little Caesars within 20 miles of my apartment.
Fortunately for me, fate would bring us together and it was this very evening that I found myself sitting in a parking lot, 5 miles from my house, staring at the Little Caesars storefront. I'd built up this moment for weeks, when suddenly I started to feel very self conscious. I had to work up the courage to walk in the door, and when I did, I couldn't even look the cashier in the eyes.
She asked me what I wanted to order, so I told her a $5 Hot n' Ready, and with the devil sitting on my shoulder, I asked for Crazy Bread too. It was painless and over in less than three minutes, and by the time I got into my car the smell was completely intoxicating. I told myself I needed to be patient, and started thinking about all of the consequences of what I was about to do to myself. I stopped at Paradise (Panera equivalent) to pick up a salad - which I promised I would eat first in an attempt to avoid devouring an entire pizza and order of Crazy Bread in one sitting.
You don't pick up food from Paradise without grabbing at least two chocolate chip cookies, so I shamelessly asked for two of those as well. Returning my car, the smell of my $5 Hot n' Ready was so intense that it was all I could do not to drive the rest of the way home with the box open in my lap.
I made my way to the kitchen counter with enough food to last any normal person who practices self-restraint at least 3 days, poured myself a large glass of Pinot Noir, before I ripped into the Crazy Bread and ate three breadsticks and two slices of pizza. The whole time I was thinking to myself, "This tastes like shit. I don't remember it this way...." as I continued to shovel more in my mouth. I had to stop myself to allow myself an opportunity to at least eat something that would provide actual nourishment to my body, so I ate the large salad before polishing off the rest of the $5 Hot n' Ready, Crazy Bread and two chocolate chip cookies.
Enter the most disgusting feeling I've experienced since the last time Dave went out of town - like Thanksgiving dinner on steroids. A food baby to rival Kim K's baby bump that would last for days. This is what early settlers must have felt like when they made a kill after not having eaten for days on end.
Once I told him I was going to pick up something from the grocery store, and I made a detour to In-n-Out. I downed a double double, fries and a drink in under 5 minutes, and tossed the evidence outside of Basha's before running in for proof I'd actually gone to the store. I went home, cooked dinner, and then ate again.
Don't get me wrong - I'd never stand on my soapbox and pretend like I should be the poster child for all things fitness and moderation. I'm human, I exercise, I aspire to (and do) eat healthy foods, and I give in to cravings when I have them - which is often. But that isn't my issue. My issue is cheating and the resulting guilt, like I have all but actually cheated on D, from binging like that - to the extent that I will burn the evidence. He's never made me feel bad about eating, overeating, or feeling a little soft around the middle. But I can't help myself - I always want more, and I always wait until he's out of sight.
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