So, I have the
pleasure misfortune of calling a town where buffets reign supreme my home. Honestly, we probably have more buffets per capita than anywhere else in the world (okay, yeah, I’m pulling that out of my ass, but it sure seems like it). We frequented them far too often when my parents started making good money and refused to cook anymore and I all but despise buffets because of it.
Well, my aunt and cousin are in town with a few people for a couple days and wanted to grab dinner. Of course I said yes to seeing them, but unfortunately, the picky eaters in the group didn’t like my suggestion of a top rated seafood restaurant (where I happen to know the chef who totally would have hooked us up). It’s their vacation, so I let them decide where they wanted to go – the buffet.
I knew this would be a challenge, but I’ve been doing really well and thought I was strong enough to make good choices. Bring on the buffet, I thought. I’ll see you there. I’ll totally make it work for me (yeah, I am apparently that dumb).
While this isn’t exactly a revelation to me, it is painfully obvious after tonight that buffets absolutely cannot be a part of my life anymore. At all. Ever. The reason? Taking a fat ass pre-op recovering food addict to a buffet is like sitting a barely sober alcoholic down at the bar and putting three of his favorite drinks in front of him.
You just don’t do that shit.
Deep down I knew this was trouble. Still, with weight loss surgery on my mind, I really did start off with the best of intentions, making sure to get a nice salad in right off the bat. So far so good. But things escalated quickly from there. Pasta. Sirloin. Mexican. Chinese. Desserts. Get in my fucking belly right now, all of you! I mean, it’s expected that your plate will be overflowing at the buffet. Why else would you go?
I wish I could say I stopped there, friends. I wish I could say that was it. But I can’t.
Because I am the fucking food junkie that I am, I just found myself back in the fridge. Yep. I’m eating again. Once you’re off the wagon, you might as well fall off the fucking wagon, am I right? I’m absolutely disgusted with myself, yet I will finish what I started, I have no doubt. I’m incredibly embarrassed to be admitting this to you all, but accountability or something. I feel like such a fucking failure right now.
Oh wow, hello my dearest shame spiral. I hope you know that I absofuckinglutely hate you, but your darkness, your berating tone, your words like razor blades are so familiar, so comfortable. As sick as twisted as it is, I miss your company sometimes.
For tonight (and forever), I throw up two middle fingers and say good riddance to you, you evil buffets. You wouldn’t really have been missed as it is, but you did teach me an important lesson tonight. Next time stand up for yourself and demand a different place. After all, for every buffet, there are half a dozen killer restaurants to choose from in this town too. My visitors will just have to understand.
Back on the wagon in the morning, I hope.