My “vice”? The only thing about this topic that makes it
difficult is the fact that the word “vice” is singular. Oh, if only I were
afflicted with just a single vice. But alas, my vices are legion. I am tempted
by so many things: by chocolate, by liquor, by laziness, by procrastination, by
cheesy television… But at this stage of my life, I must admit that the vice I struggle
with most often, that I fight against the hardest, that I am tempted by the
strongest, is…food.
But not just any food. Food, in the purest sense, is not a
vice. I’ve heard it said that food is the one thing you can’t give up cold
turkey. You can give up categories and components of food, like meat, gluten,
alcohol, or seafood, but you cannot give up food in its entirety and expect to
live very long. Food is necessary for life. So I would never call food, in and
of itself, a vice. Gourmet food,
however, is my vice. And this past weekend, I indulged deeply in that
particular vice.
As a 40-something female with two children under the age of
5 and a sheer revulsion for exercise, rich, indulgent food like this is
definitely a vice. The increasing tightness in the waistband of all my pants
will attest to that.
But you know those annoying diet ads that claim, “Nothing
tastes as good as being thin feels”? Those ads are total bunk – for me, at
least. Filet mignon tastes better to me than being thin feels. Hot chocolate
ganache tastes better than being thin feels. Crispy duck breast, crème brulee,
lobster bisque, and venison all taste better than being thin feels. Girl Scout
thin mints taste better. So does deep dish pizza, Brie and bread, and Ben and
Jerry’s Late Night Snack ice cream.
If the price I have to pay for indulging in
these delights of the palate now and then is going up a jeans size? Bring on the
elastic waistband, baby. And pass the nachos. Because they’re my vice. And I
looooove my vice.
No comments:
Post a Comment