DIE(t)ing: Day 3
I’m only checking in to assure you all that I am still alive, even after the reality of an extended diet made me go numb yesterday. I swear I lost all feeling in my face when my friend agreed to my half-hearted deal.Â
When I got home last night, I was sprawled out on the bed, depressed and pleading with Ben to allow me to have some Neapolitan ice cream. He instantly shook his head no. So I continued to plead. I got to be such a pain-in-the-ass, I’m sure, that he genuinely offered to get me some ice cream … perhaps he thought I was experiencing some serious physical anguish. And instead of thanking him, I yelled, “NO! What kind of boyfriend are you?! Do you want me fail?!!” And then I buried my head in a pillow, mortified that I just experienced the onset of SFCBS (Sugar-Free Crazy Bitch Syndrome). They say love conquers all, and I hope it does.
This morning, as I was whipping up a sloppy PB&J for breakfast, I paused to wonder whether I was violating my diet. Does a peanut butter and jelly sandwich come under the category of “sweet deliciousness?” I was worried. So I ate the damn thing before I gave myself any more time to justify why I shouldn’t. Tell me I didn’t break any rules.
