I weigh 2.6 lbs more than I did yesterday. Curses! How did this happen? I’ll tell you how.
It all went down like this. It was another busy day in my household in a series of hectic days. I arrived home at 7:03 pm for the first time after too many things to mention here. I was starving. I put arms of supplies and miscellany from the day on the table. I opened the refrigerator door. Mostly nothing but science experiments scattered amongst vast open spaces.
I was so tired. So I started cleaning out the refrigerator. I tossed, scrubbed, and rearranged until the shelves sparkled with clean glass and even fewer items. I even took out the bottom drawers and laboriously cleaned up a dried up concoction of what looked like meat juice that had solidified into a syrupy-sticky paste all over the entire floor of the refrigerator. That took a while.
The time was now 8:11 pm. I had neither lunch or dinner yet. I was famished. I was to the point where all that was left to clean was the refrigerator door.
And then my eyes beheld a glorious sight. A blue can of LARGE BUTTERMILK biscuits. GRANDNESS! It felt like the moment in the movies where the light of heaven shines down and an angelic chorus sings. I felt as if I were tingling.
“Hallelujah!” I exclaimed. I plopped down my rag and in one fell swoop glided a few feet over to my oven door, grabbed the stoneware pan awaiting it’s task, hit preheat, and summoned my young son to come over. “Quick! I told him. I have a very important job for you to do, but you need to do it right this minute!” “But I’m doing my homework,” he replied. “Forget about that!” I said. “This is important!”
I peeled down the wrapper on the biscuit can. I gave him a spoon and showed him where the carboard g-spot was. Turn the spoon around backwards and press here I instructed. Now watch!
POP! Like a genie just coming out a bottle, the magic elixir to hunger sprang forth! I showed him how to find the demarcation line between the flaky layers to separate the biscuits. “Don’t worry if you misjudge,” I told him, that just means some biscuits will be bigger than others. More for me I thought as I started to salivate.
We got out the honey butter. We got out the honey. I know a better mom would have scrounged for something else to go with biscuits for dinner. Not me. I pulled my weight today and then some. It was chow time. All proper gastronomy rules flew out the window. And hey, it beat the customary bowl of Lucky Charms on the other nights when there is no time to eat!
Eleven minutes slowly crept. Then at last! Ding! I mitted up my hand and pulled them out. “Don’t touch!” I yelled. “For I don’t want you to get burned,” my voice trailed off as I pinched off just a bite to sample.
I slathered honey butter on the butter biscuits in case they were butter biscuits in name only. I squeezed the honey out of the plastic bear bottle in case the honey butter was weak. The biscuits were still steamy. I threw them on a plate. “Let’s eat!” I said.
“What about the blessing?” my sweet boy said. Right. “Thank you for our biscuits tonight. In Jesus name. Amen!” We could resume our tradition of “God is great, God is good another night.” Surely the Lord understood.
I put my biscuit in my mouth. Bliss. Absolute bliss. And then another. We saved two for my husband. After all , he worked hard all day and deserved a loving home-cooked meal as well! That left one biscuit for my son and I to split.
“Here, I’ll cut it in half for us to split.” As I did so, my knife must have misjudged because I accidentally cut off about 2/3 of the last biscuit and popped it in my mouth as I handed him the remainder and said, “here’s your half.”
Simple pleasures. Simple sins. I know I participated in both tonight for which I am both deeply remorseful and deeply thankful.
That was yesterday. Today I woke up and I was still hungry. Before I hopped in the shower I jumped on the scale as is punitive custom to start my day. Many women start with this daily self-flogging so please don’t judge me. Curses again! I weigh 2.6 pounds more than yesterday. The only thing softer than the biscuits is the middle of my tummy. How ounces of biscuits converts to pounds of fat and only on women is fuzzy math I don’t want to understand; I only know it’s true.
I vow to look into starting a raw food diet detox very soon. I don’t always meet my goals in life. But still I press on, trying to cross the finish line. I will at the very least get on the treadmill by this weekend.
Life is a journey. A journey of structure and chaos and schedules that are cruel and days that go by too fast. My advice? Don’t forget to take time and stop and savor the biscuits. Inhale their aroma and then wolf them down!