Our actual discussion was the typical discussion of the husband slowly putting on weight each and every year and the wife trying to gently persuade him to change his eating habits. Boring discussion that no one wants to hear about but according to my wife may lead to my eventual, slow, painful death. Apparently if you carry your weight in your belly (like most men) it is really bad and worse than other types of fat, because this kind of fat is the perfect place for a gremlin to grow and eventually the gremlin will grow strong enough to burst out of your side and reign havoc in small towns across America on Christmas. Terrible stuff, that belly fat!
This conversation lead me to an old memory from my childhood. It is a memory from when I was about four or five years old. At the time my mom had a full time job and so we had a lady come to our house once a week to help my mom get caught up on chores. Her name was Ruth and she was an old African American lady who cleaned my parents home, my cousins home, and my grandmothers home. So, as a child she felt like an extension of our family.
What in the world do Ruth and belly fat have to do with each other? Well, while thinking of my belly fat I began to tell Kat how I simply have no self control when it comes to sweets. I wondered why this was and after a few moments of thought a memory of Ruth came to mind. At some point my mother left me with Ruth for a morning and Ruth kept an eye on me.
Growing up my favorite breakfast was Eggo waffles and chocolate milk. I didn't have a passing love of this breakfast, it was an obsession. I had it almost every single morning of my life until I graduated high school. Literally almost every morning. Even today Kat knows that our freezer must be stocked with Eggo waffles and our fridge must have a bottle of Hershey Syrup in it at ALL times.
Well, Ruth must have decided she would be nice or she decided to be incredibly lazy and she allowed me to put the maple syrup on my waffles and the Hershey syrup in my milk. Like I said, I was four or five so this was a very very poor decision on Ruth's part. I went freakin' crazy with both syrups and probably had the soggiest waffle of all time and had to chew the milk.
It was not good. Even at that age I knew it was simply too sugary. The first few bites were like heaven, but eventually it became an endurance match to eat my way through the waffles and milk. I am not 100% on this fact, but I vaguely remember vomiting after I finished. It was a sad day in my life story.
What this memory allowed me realize about myself is that I do have a serious, long standing issue with sweets. The issue is not that I like sweets. Who doesn't?! What five year old would not have done the exact same thing I did when presented with two bottles of syrup? The issue is that even at that age I forced myself to finish.
I have continued that trait for my entire life. If you put a Cheesecake Factory cheesecake in front of me, I will eat until my stomach hurts. If you take me Jason's Deli, I will eat the free ice cream before dinner just in case dinner were to fill me up. If I walk into a Subway I eat a cookie regardless of if I want one or not. My body is apparently in a constant delusion that the world is in short supply of sweets and I better get it while I can.
There really is no easy answer. I can diet all I want, but eventually I will see sweets and be overcome. I can work out all I want, but eventually I will see sweets and be overcome. There truly is only one option now. I need to find 'ol Ruth, sit down in front of a waffle and glass of milk, have Ruth gently whisper in my ear to pour as much as I want, go nuts with the syrup, force myself to eat all the food and drink all the milk, and then vomit myself until I am dry heaving. That should keep me away from sweets for at least a few hours.
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