Confessing Happiness

I am a barbarian. Or, if you prefer, a troglodyte; a philistine. I am here to confess. I am a bad man. I am a degenerate; that is, "a person who reverts to an earlier stage of evolution." I had evolved. I had become more refined; more cultured. This week I took a step backwards. This week I found myself feeding at the trough. After more than 2,438 days I consumed Fried Fast Food. Yes! I had 2 Buffalo Chicken Strips and a Small Order of French Fries. I am embarrassed and ashamed. I am glad no one I knew, saw me. Regardless, I am guilty.

Granted, I did my research first. I found a $5 snack pack with only 470 calories, 20g of fat, 2.5g of saturated fat, and 0g of trans fat. That's Total! For both chicken and fries! That's less, in all categories, than the lower fat Kettle Chips I (more and more frequently) allow myself to consume in one sitting. So why do I feel the need to confess. Why do I feel criminal? And remorseful? And wicked? And wrong?

Perhaps it is because I feel like it is "another" step backwards. A few months ago, I allowed myself baked oven fries. About a year before that I allowed myself the aforementioned (pernicious) lower fat kettle chips. A few months earlier still I gave in to the siren song of baked potato chips. And before that? Yep; it was mashed potatoes. And earlier still? It was a plain baked potato. And the Chicken? I can trace that back to my sister-in-law's most delicious fried chicken 4 years ago on my birthday. There have been other lapses. I have even advanced from going five years with no salad dressing to now taking regular advantage of Raspberry Vinaigrette.

Where will it stop?

At this rate, one day when I'm 75, I may find myself before a heaping half-empty plate of chili-cheese fries, not knowing how I (or they) got there.

And think about it. The fact that I did the research proves beyond any reasonable doubt that it was not simply a moment of weakness. Nor did I get caught up in the heat of the moment. There was no frenzy of fast food fanatics forcing me to go along with the crowd. Nor did I do it out of anger or any other negative emotion. This was planned! Premeditated! A clear-crinkle-cut case of first degree felonious assault on an unsuspecting bag of fries and two defenseless chicken strips. I am a miscreant.

I have been worried for years that each concession to the seductive enticement of progressively prepared potatoes would lead me down this road to fried perdition and right back to the fast food fold I am so fond of. And there I was; mid-afternoon Wednesday; furtively watching the door hoping not to see familiar faces while savoring the salty crispy goodness of french fries and fried chicken strips. I am weak.

Despite the tongue-in-cheek tone, I do feel guilty and I am uncertain how to proceed. Some would say, (and some have said), that, in moderation, the occasional relapse is not a worry; especially since the nutritional content is actually an improvement. I might argue that it is not the incident, but the ever-broadening continuation that is concerning; and less fat now is not less fat down the road if it leads to more fat. Duh! Some might say I should deny myself fast food friedom and return to the kettle chips; but I might argue that this regression has made me aware of multiple regressions stretching back to the beginning, and perhaps that is suggesting that I begin again, allowing myself a daily snack of only 29 reduced fat, (small) baked cheese crackers. I went cold turkey (literally and figuratively) once; I can do it again.

But then the bad man inside my head reminds me that undeterred by the healthy habits and the dramatic turnaround in blood profiles, my arteries still desired the company of three additional stents just a year ago. So, (as the bad man's logic goes), why not enjoy a few flavorful, fried delectables along the way.

Some would say, the bad man makes sense. And some of them would argue that he is not a bad man; merely reasonable. I might argue that if you have one rope with two knots and another rope with two knots and you tie them together then it is reasonable to surmise that 2 + 2 = 5. And in the case of my stents, (since one is inside another), it is reasonable to infer that 7 = 6.

So...

  1. I can continue eating french fries, leading to who knows what.
  2. I can return to oven baked fries and/or kettle cooked chips and risk further relapse.
  3. I can go all the way back to 29 tiny cheese crackers per day, accompanied by cold turkey for lunch and dinner.
  4. I can listen to the bad man and believe that no matter the effort made, soon 7 will equal 9; or 10; or infinity.

I don't like the bad man.

But I most certainly liked those French Fries.

I don't want to listen to the bad man.

But I do hear the call of more French Fries.

I am the bad man.

And I know my way around a guileless bag of French Fries.

Perhaps though, if I stop, I will keep infinity at arms length.

Or perhaps not.

Either way, my mouth will still water each time I remember those French Fries; this past Wednesday; November 2nd, 2016; from 2:32pm until 2:49pm. They were tasty...

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