We used to be so good together. You comforted me. You made me happy. I loved you…
But after all these years, I’ve become too dependent. I want you too much, and I now realize, it’s just not healthy. I need to strike out on my own and try new things.
It’s not you, it’s me.
Carbohydrates, I’m breaking up with you.
In the early days, I couldn’t foresee how addicting our relationship would become. I didn’t fear our love affair, because I believed the science of the 1990’s, which decreed that low fat carbs were healthy fuel for my body. I was so naive, ignorantly indulging in second helpings of sticky rice, snacking on crackers, and adding a hunk of ciabatta bread alongside my pasta. Oh, the ciabatta bread!
When I gained weight, I never blamed you. I thought cheese, meat, butter, cream and nuts were my enemies. As long as I didn’t put mayo or cheese on my sandwich, it was health food. As long as I ladled red sauce on my spaghetti, it was good for me. As long as I used skim milk — a bowl of cereal, a glass of juice and a butterless slice of toast was the perfect breakfast. What a fool I was!
When I married a Navy man, you didn’t leave me. In fact, our threesome was quite happy in an open relationship. Together, you and I won my new husband’s heart, and his stomach, too.
While stationed in Monterey, California, you introduced us to the wiles of sourdough — we felt so naughty as we loaded chowder into your bread bowls. While stationed in England, you never told us that the baked beans the English dollop on their breakfast plates, pour over their toast, and glob on their baked potatoes were as bad as the scones, biscuits and puddings. Excess glucose surged through our blood while we were stationed in Germany, as we washed pretzels, noodles and potatoes down with wheaty beers and sweet wines. In the South, we were so busy avoiding fried chicken, sausage gravy and bacon fat, we didn’t notice that you were secretly feeding our addiction with sweet tea, sticky barbecue sauce, and starchy corn bread.
Worst of all, I could never seem to resist the chocolate with which you regularly seduced me. How could you smugly stand by while I wallowed in guilt over the fat content? Little did I know, your sugar was the culprit all along!
You betrayed me, and as hard as it is for me to say this, it’s over.
Sure, you will always be a part of my life, but I’m ready to explore the rest of the food pyramid. The rotisserie chickens with their crisp skins, the creamy camemberts, the olive oils, the avocados, and the bacon … the glorious bacon! I don’t mean to hurt you, but there are a lot more fish (like salmon with a generous slathering of creamy dill sauce) in the sea.
When we do run into each other, I hope we can be civil. I won’t rudely turn away from you on special occasions (especially if you come in the form of homemade macaroni and cheese with buttered breadcrumbs on top), but let’s keep our contact to a minimum. Of course, the kids will still want to have you around, but during scheduled visitations, please keep your high fructose corn syrup to yourself.
One last thing before you go. If, by chance, I should have a moment of weakness over, let’s say, a bag of Hershey Kisses with Almonds during a hormone spike, I can tell you right now that it will be a nothing more than a meaningless fling.
So long, Carbohydrates. It’s been nice knowing you.