After a week that included 3 separate birthday celebrations for Sam, 3 different cakes, and lots of pizza and wine, I believe it’s time to start buckling down in the diet department.
Apparently it’s summer, and my New Year’s resolution to look as skinny as Kelly Ripa didn’t pan out.
Instead I continued down my path of self-destruction by consuming food, including my favorite food (which is ice cream.) Now, instead of looking like Kelly Ripa as bathing suit season approaches…..I look like the “fat Betty Draper.”
On Wednesday, we went to the fair at the kids’ school run by the PTO. At the fair the choice of food for dinner was hot dogs, pizza or wraps. Since I had been eating so much junk I figured I would be good and order a wrap.
“Where did you guys get the wraps from?” I asked the woman working at the food booth.
“I don’t know,” she shrugged.
I got the kids settled with some pizza and went back up to the food booth to a different worker.
“Hi, how much are the wraps?” I asked.
“3 dollars.” the woman replied.
“Where are they from?” I asked again.
“I don’t know.” she answered looking back at me expectantly. This nonchalance and indifference to my question caught me off guard.
This is indicative of this town that I live in that has a population of 63,000 PEOPLE and guess how many sandwich shops or delis?
Are you ready for this?
The people around here don’t care about sandwiches, or “grinders” as they are called here in Connecticut.
I mean if that was the PTO in the town where I grew up there would be a plethora of grinder shops to choose from, one better than the next.
People would fight over where to get the best grinder.
In my family, a grinder is a staple food item. Just today, I literally was in the midst of writing this blog post and called my parents to ask them something. This is how the conversation went.
“Hi Dad can you please get the radio that I left in the garage and bring it with you tomorrow?”
“What are you guys doing?”
“Oh- I am just eating a chicken sang-wich with your mother.”
I am NOT KIDDING.
So, this concept of just randomly handing out wraps at a fair that came from some mysterious place……
And does this sandwich ignorance mean that I am the only one at the fair that asked for a little background information on the wraps?
I mean I am not obsessed with sandwiches, but I would just like to know what I am about to eat, because a sandwich or wrap could be dry and tasteless or possibly sensational.
My college roommate and I once woke up early on Sunday of “Spring Weekend” to watch my boyfriend(soon to be known as Mr. Gaga) play baseball at 10 am, because a local deli in the Bronx, provided free pieces of hero.
Nobody else cared. The bleachers were empty. All over campus, college students slept off their alcohol induced comas.
We were the only 2 people enticed enough by a sandwich to get up early.
We were so excited about those sandwiches. During a time when funding for frivolous meals was quite limited, a free sandwich was like gold to us.
It was a gorgeous morning, the sun was shining and we had the bleachers all to ourselves. We spread out our multiple plates of sandwich pieces.
I remember being very happy, basking in the sun and eating a chicken cutlet hero.
We were watching the future Mr. Gaga play for about a half an hour and I was just about to dig into my second piece of hero when an outfielder came up to the fence and called up to me.
“Hey the future Mr. Gaga isn’t here you know….” he yelled.
“Oh….where is he? ” I said nonchalantly, like I always wake up early and eat sandwiches in the bleachers for no reason. I mean I have never really been good at actually “watching” the game per se, but this was pretty bad. I should at least notice his clear absence from the field.
“He got hurt, and had to be taken in the ambulance to the hospital.” he said and then he had to run back to the game.
I was concerned and also mortified that I was eating 50 sandwiches instead of caring for my very injured boyfriend.
But while I was thinking about what to do next, I figured there was no sense letting a perfectly delicious sandwich go to waste. So I went to track down the future Mr. Gaga…..
after I ate that piece of hero.
He was totally fine.
When I was pregnant for the first time I found that not eating cold cuts proved more difficult for me than abstaining from alcohol.
After being 10 days late, getting induced and waiting close to 48 hours for the baby to be born, by the time the umbilical cord was being cut I already had requested that Mr. Gaga go get me an Italian combo.
In a move that some would say was a clear indicator of what little regard anyone would have for my whims ever again, Mr. Gaga returned with a turkey melt from Quiznos.
I was inconsolable.
When Mr. Gaga went home to shower, I called my mother and in between sobs relayed to her the severity of the situation.
“It’s fine, he was probably just tired and he doesn’t know the difference.” my mother consoled me.
“How could he not know?!” I cried. “I don’t think he loves me anymore!” I sobbed hysterically.
Needless to say my father had to leave work and deliver me a proper grinder.
Hmmmm, now that I think of all these stories…..
Maybe I am obsessed with sandwiches.
that sure does explain why I look like “Fat Betty.”
Back to the PTO wrap!
Anyways – this blatant disregard for the origins of the wrap took me off guard and I almost went for the pizza as a result.
But then I remembered that I was “Fat Betty” and that I had to start wearing a bathing suit regularly, so I ordered the wrap.
Could you imagine?
I really shkeeve homemade foods by strangers.
But since I was hungry and trying not to be a wasteful elitist “Fat Betty” – I ate the dang thing.
Friday night I came home from work and felt so sick. I never get sick really, but I had a sore throat and felt so tired, I had to go to bed.
Please understand that I NEVER go to bed unless I am dying.
I laid in bed sweaty and delirious, trying to think how I could possibly be sick.
Mr. Gaga was downstairs running around from TV to TV, loving life with me in bed before him – which only happens once every 5 years.
I rolled around in the bed trying to get comfortable, while keeping my bloody knees elevated.
Suddenly – I sat straight up and called down to Mr. Gaga.
“What?” he asked with a concerned look as he came in the bedroom.
“I just realized why I am sick,” I said with horror.
“Why?” he asked.
“From that filthy sandwich….” I answered with wide eyes. “I can’t believe it. Why did I eat it?” Those women probably didn’t wear gloves and made those filthy sandwiches, and I ate one!! WHY?? WHY GOD? WHY???” I cried – laying back down.
I wanted Mr. Gaga to assure me that it was not a filthy sandwich that made me sick.
Instead he looked at me and said “Yeah – why did you eat that??” with disgust.
“I don’t know!! Because I am trying to not be FAT!!!!! Every time I try to not be fat I get punished!!!!!” I cried.
Ok – this week is a new week.
I will not eat filthy sandwiches or pizza.
But it is my birthday this week….so maybe just one more piece of cake will be ok………and then I will totally start on that Tic Tac diet…..