This morning I stumbled into work carrying a “Party Platter” of pre-cut veggies, which I’d bought so that I could continue to eat at my desk throughout the day without gaining any more weight. No, I’m not pregnant. Truthfully, it’s like, who even knows how these things happen…
Actually I have some ideas:
1.) So you know how cereal commercials mostly revolve around which ones are the crunchiest? Like, “Oh my GOD this is so crispy even though I poured the milk on it, SNAP CRACKLE POP BOOYAH!” etc.? Well, I thought that by taking the giant bowl of nuts at my office and eating it like cereal I was creating the crunchiest cereal of all. And I was! But then, after a few weeks of steady and rapid weight gain, my coworker Renee taught me that a cup of almonds has 47 grams of fat, leading me to decide that “Cereal Made Entirely of Almonds” (or, CMEA, copyright Kathleen Hale 2012) is a breakfast of champions that should probably be reserved for decathletes and folks trying to bounce back from actual starvation.
2.) Renee also put together a carefully constructed excel spreadsheet cataloguing my daily ingestion of the following “problem” foods: peanut butter, lemonade, vanilla soy milk (what was I supposed to eat my CMEA with?), and giant handfuls of cheddar cheese.
Anyway, today, as I grunted toward my desk carrying the Party Platter that was supposed to make eating vegetables more fun, I found a great big tupperware container full of gluten-free fudge cookies, with a really nice card on top of it that read:
“Dear Kathleen Hale, Hahaha all over your face for trying to experiment with dieting. This week I’m going to put ten more pounds on your body in all the wrong places. (Also don’t even try to fight me on this because I’ll totally win and also send a pestilence on all your houses if I want.) Love, God”
Just kidding! It was a normal note from my boss’s wife, Lesley, who is so full of kindness and kitchen-talent that she had made me gluten-free Chocolate Puddle Cookies, which are good on a level that necessitates removing your now-ill-fitting pants, then sitting pantsless at your desk, again, even though HR already talked to you about how that constitutes a fireable offense.
More regarding the puddle cookies: they are better than bath salts, which is to say they make you feel ten feet tall and bullet proof. However, like bath salts, they are also dangerous. In fact they posed such a threat to my weight maintenance that a few of my body parts had to get together and have a talk about it.
BRAIN: The quicker we get rid of them, the sooner we can start over with your half rations.
STOMACH: Nom.
BRAIN: After re-reading some science I invented, I’ve decided we’ve just gotta put them in you, all of them, right now. Once they’re down there we’ll blast them with the vegetable party platter, because that’s how dieting works: vegetables kill cookies.
STOMACH: Nom?
BRAIN: Let’s melt them down in this coffee cup and get them down in one gulp.
STOMACH: Wait this actually sounds like a terrible idea.
BRAIN: Butt, what do you think?
BUTT: Me big. Fleen sits me. No like.
BRAIN: Boobs?
BOOBS: (aggressively slapping against each other) “MISS MARY MACK, MACK, MACK”
BRAIN: Right. The same song you always sing. Let’s begin.
Conclusion: I drank a dozen cookies then ate a gluten-free burrito the size of a guinea pig. And my boyfriend loves me just the way I am.
