Tags

, , , , , ,

Catch up time.

Friday, my friend had the day off work so said she’d pop round for a cuppa at 1pm.  Me, being the crank I am, asked if she could maybe come a bit later after I’ve had my lunch (because I’m such a stupid creature of habit and it would clash with lunch time).  Conversation went as follows:

Her: “Ah that’s an idea, lets go out for lunch instead!”

Me: “Sorry mate, I really can’t afford lunch out, I haven’t had an income in ages, I’ll make you a lovely cuppa though”

Her: “Don’t be silly, you paid last time so it’s my treat”

Me: “Erm, no, honestly, it’s ok, just come round for a brew”

Her: “No we’ll go to that place with the amazing cakes, pick you up at 1?”

Me: “Erm.  Ok, yeah sounds good”.

ARGH.  Any normal person wouldn’t have considered 1pm to be an unreasonable time for a best friend to come round and say hey, any normal person wouldn’t try and make excuses not to go out for lunch, any normal person would appreciate the kind offer rather than worry about what to eat.

So we went.  I felt fine with the menu and it was ok until my food came.  Who puts butter on a fucking pitta bread?  I certainly don’t!  Rather than a pitta pocket, they had sliced it in two, like a sandwich and buttered both sides.  The filling was no longer contained in the pitta because none of the edges were sealed, no big deal (much!) except the ‘hand carved ham’ on the menu translates as ‘rock hard crunchy fat from the edge of the ham, combined with stringy fat and no actual meat’.  I tried to surreptitiously peel off the rank bits of ham but realised I was left with 2 halves of buttered pitta and nothing else.  I ate what I could of the ham, and all of the pitta but all in all it wasn’t a success.  Normal people would have said ewww that ham is a bit rank, but eaten it all regardless.  Or more likely, not even noticed.  We didn’t get cake in the end because the car was close to being clamped (she’s terrible at parking!) so we left.

Then we get to Saturday!  Mum had asked if I would come to a ‘Coffee and Cake’ morning her work had organised about 11am.  My mouth said ‘Yeah that sounds good’, my brain said ‘AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH’.  My brain went into overdrive, ’11am?  But I don’t have breakfast until 10.30, it takes 30 mins to get there, that isn’t enough time to have breakfast, should I eat before I go?  Maybe a banana or a yogurt?  Or should I just wait and have cake?  What if I’m too hungry when I get there because I’ve skipped breakfast (something I never do) and end up scoffing the lot?’

Ridiculous.

As it was, we spent too long getting ready, couldn’t find a parking space and had to practically run from the car and got there at 11.45.  It finished at 12, and we were encouraged to ‘Eat as much cake as you can before you go!”.  I started with a coffee and a scone because it’s something I’m very comfortable with.  That could, and should have been fine and I know I should have stopped at that.  However, my Mums friend, who I love to pieces knows I’ve been struggling recently and said make the most of it, help yourself to more cake…so I did.  I chose a slice of sticky date cake (nice, but the icing tasted very odd) then a chocolate brownie.  I felt so so so greedy.  3 cakes in 15 minutes?  For breakfast?  What the fuck?  Half guilty, half glad.  I’m glad I managed not to freak out in public, and eat lots of cake along with every other person there, after all if they can do it, why shouldn’t I?  But at the same time feel guilty inside that one scone would have been fine.

Unsurprisingly, we weren’t hungry for lunch so did a bit of shopping and got ingredients for a Christmas cake.  It felt weird not having something for lunch, even if it’s only a bagel I’ll always have something, but I appreciated Mum not insisting we had something because I assume she was equally full.  We picked up some ready meals for dinner because there would be a Christmas Cake using the oven for 4.5 hours(!) so to save hassle we’d each get a separate meal.

I picked up one of my usuals, or so I thought.  Got home, and realised I’d picked up the wrong meal.  One with 40 more calories and 4 grams more fat.  I couldn’t do it.  I knew I wouldn’t eat it.  So fucking stupid.  In the grand scheme of things 40 calories is nothing, and perhaps if I hadn’t scoffed 3 cakes I would have eaten it but I doubt it, it’s stupid retrictions like that which get on my nerves.  I went back out to the supermarket to get the one I thought I’d bought in the first place, with a smile and a laugh, pretending to my family that this is an entirely normal way to behave.  They’re not stupid, they know why I wouldn’t eat it, and not because “I’ve had it before and it’s not very nice” as I told them.  It’s that 4 extra grams of fat which did it.

I felt like such a fool.  Why can I feel proud of myself for not publicly freaking out about cakes, and then disregard a meal because of a minuscule difference in calories/fat?  To make it even more contradictory, I felt guilty for being such an idiot about it so had 2 Rocky Road bites, 2 Ferraro Rocher and a jelly.  Which contain way more fat and calories than the difference in the damn ready meals.

I was given a ‘Food and Mood’ diary last week which is something I’ve not seen before, I doubt yesterday’s entry will go down well with the Dietitian!  Incidentally, my appointment to see her has come through already so I’ll be going there on Wednesday.

Wonder what fun and games today will bring?  It’ll be a tasty but monstrously sized Sunday Roast I assume.

Unsurprisingly I couldn’t find a combination picture of scone, date cake and brownie, so coffee and chocolate brownie will suffice:

Advertisements