Two related happenings over the weekend.
I sat down to eat my dinner in my bedroom Saturday night. On my plate was a “cheese dog” on a white hot dog bun, and Spongebob Macaroni and Cheese.
Now, this is in no way any offense to Chris, who cooked the meal and did an excellent job as always. I am very grateful that Chris does so much of the cooking. Yay, Chris, for being an excellent husband and very good cook!
However, I took one bite, and I just couldn’t do it. I had this blinding moment of clarity when I realized that there was not a single mouthful of what I would term “actual, real food” on the plate. First, we had the “cheese dog”–compressed bits of meat that literally “didn’t make the cut” to be included in a real piece of meat, and injected with something posing as cheese. Then we had the white bread bun, which bore no resemblance to having any relationship with an actual grain. Last but not least, we had the Spongebob Macaroni and Cheese, which is technically not macaroni (which any Italian will tell you is elbow-shaped, not Patrick-Starfish-shaped) and definitely not cheese.
We had a guest, and I just wasn’t willing to have that conversation in front of them, so I acted like a third grader and scraped my plate out the bedroom window. I apologize formally to any of the constipated squirrels in my yard who ate it. White bread does not “keep the colon rollin’,” as friend Daryn says.
So, henceforth, I’m trying to make an effort to limit my intake of food to…um… actual food. Food that has a discernable relationship with some sort of natural source. Meats that are obviously the flesh of some animal. Grains that have… grains… in them. Vegetables. Fruits. Dairy products that were once on intimate terms with a dairy-producing animal. In short, food that comes, if indirectly, from a farm, not a laboratory, factory or “plant.”
On a related topic, I went to my first-ever belly-dancing class Sunday afternoon. It was hard. I was a little encouraged by the fact that it seemed to be as hard for the skinny 18 year old as it was for me, a 34 year old mother of two who hasn’t exercised seriously in over 7 years. And honestly, the moves look better on someone with a few more curves. It’s the only exercise class I’ve ever been to where the curvier students looked better when doing the moves marginally right than the skinnier students looked doing them more accurately. Let’s face it, undulating your hips looks better when you actually HAVE hips.
The instructor was really sweet, and made a point of telling me I did well at “pushing out your stomach like you’re trying to look pregnant.” Gee. Thanks. Never been complimented on that particular skill before, but hey, we take our praise wherever we can get it these days.