You know when children go through that phase of asking ‘why’ more times a day than their life is worth? Some days I think I never left that zone. When I’m at work, I’d like to think that my ‘why’ questions are helpful or in the latest parlance, ‘value-add’.
When at home, sometimes I want to ask the tough questions. Things like:
- why does traffic snarl?
- why does some cat poo float and not others? and
- what is the purpose of snot?
These critical questions shall have to wait, for tonight, I have a fourth more burning question.
Why does food which is bad for you taste good and ‘good’ food taste, well, bad?
If a carrot is so much better for you than a raspberry and almond muffin, why does the muffin win the taste war? And why is it that it’s the BAD item which is called ‘comfort’ food. No one says a salad is comforting. Take that muffin again for a moment. MUFFIN. Yes. Does it not sound more like a hug than a stringy, pathetic piece of lettuce? (Yes, those added adjectives give away my bias).
When I started lite n’ easy last week I tried to tell myself that food is fuel. Food is like sleep; a necessity but one can have too much of it. Of course, this argument sucked; it wobbled at the first sight of challenge; it fell quickly on its sword as I reminisced about how much I love my nana naps.
I actually think I’d fare reasonably well, were it not for stress induced eating. (That’s code for: ‘I had a bad day, now give me some chocolate.’) So perhaps I should focus less on the food and more on the stress?
Take today as an example. I wanted to call the person a short sighted, narrow minded fool. I did not. I ate the said raspberry muffin instead as the consequences of saying what I really thought were not as palatable.
If you’re thinking this is one of those blog posts with a neat beginning, middle and end, with the moral all sealed up and delivered, you’d be wrong. I don’t have an end to this post. I’m not quite sure what to do when I get stressed; I’m not sure how to avoid the chocolate slice; the corn chips or the naan bread.
My only idea is they should allow cats at work. Particularly 5 month old deaf ones. While the old girls are asleep on the floor, Gesso is chasing the invisible monster. He makes me laugh. Perhaps I could smuggle him in to my office… do you think anyone would notice?