Well, technically, Dr. Atkins is dead. But I figure that I lay claim to making baby Jesus weep so often, and so many regard Atkins as a man of similar stature, and–oh, look, I just made them both cry–anyway, if he was alive, or if he can cry from beyond the grave, I single-handedly devastated Dr. Atkins today.
Also? I keep typing Arkins. Is there a Dr. Arkins? A vet, perhaps? Oh dear lord, I am babbling. Which is, as we all know, a common side effect of Carbohydrate Poisoning.
There is one of those humorous lists that circulates the internet which includes the item: “I hate it when some skinny woman tells me she ‘forgot to eat.’ I’ve forgotten a lot of things in my day, but you have to be a special kind of stupid to forget to eat.” World, I have a confession. I am a special kind of stupid. I forget to eat. Often. When I am stressed out, it’s not unusual for me to stop eating. I’m a freak.
However, this is generally because there is nothing in my house that I want to eat. The corollary to my special kind of stupidity is that if there is that ONE magical food which SPEAKS to me when I’m stressed, I turn into a puppy. Which is to say, I eat and eat and eat some more and try as I might to leave that food source alone, and no matter how many times you smack me on the nose with a rolled up newspaper, if that food is anywhere that I can get to it, it will soon be history.
The rest of this story is–of course–redundant. But I’m going to tell you, anyway.
Yesterday, Chickadee and I stopped at the store for a few things. I found a loaf of challah on the “Oops, we baked too much!” rack. The incident with the bread pudding still fresh in my mind, I knew better than to set my sights on a cooking project. I was just buying it, I told myself, because it was cheap, and would give us some bread with dinner, and it was no big deal.
Go ahead. Ask me where the challah is. Ask me.
I’ve been a very naughty puppy.
God, I love challah. It was an act of love, really. Um, yeah, love. All day long love. Which sounds so much more interesting than what it really was. Which was complete and utter gluttony; non-nutritive eating spurred on by an attempt to soothe my brain with delicious, fattening simple carbohydrates. And butter. Mmmmm, butter.
And now? I’m so ashamed. Also full.
But if there was another loaf around here someplace? I wouldn’t be typing right now, I can tell you that much. Ow. Stop that. Mmmmm, bread. Ow!