Still day 22 – but dinner time.
I mentioned in an earlier post about bread being my big joy? Yeah. It was. It is. BUT, I have come to learn my biggest of all weaknesses is chocolate.
I gave in to the mini eggs , as you recall, on Easter. I LOVE chocolate. All kinds. With or without nuts. This includes fudge. Nutella. Chocolate ice cream. Chocolate covered whatevers. And French Silk pie from Baker’s Square. That pie. That FREAKING pie! Since I was in high school. GAH! It makes my salivary glands pump overtime! It’s the best dang pie in MY LIFE I love it so much. I used to make a delicious zuccotto cake that gorgeous Giada De Laurentiis shared that reminded me so much of the French Silk pie. It was always a hit at parties with friends – as well as parties in my mouth and belly.
I recognized the depth of my love for this pie the weekend before I began my detox. That was the last time I had a French Silk pie slice. I turned to my husband and said, “Ok. I am asking you right now to understand me when I say I can’t come back here for a while. That was my last piece. I know you like the place, BUT, let’s try to choose other locations just for a while so I can stay away from that… pie.”
“Sure! Ok!” He answered with his usual sprite energy.
Tonight, 22 days in, well — here I am. At Baker’s Square.
He hurt himself during a martial arts practice and after it was time for dinner. He was so bumming over the situation I asked him where he wanted to go to dinner (wanted to cheer him up) and OF COURSE he chose THE ONE place I wanted to neglect. For a long time. And yet, here’s my big boy, bummed. So I walked through those wooden doors and grabbed a stinkin’ booth.
I didn’t fight it. I didn’t want to argue. I’d find something to eat. And I did. Quinoa veggie stir fry and a honey mustard chicken, a portion-controlled one. It wasn’t so much about that. It was more about my pang for the FSP (French Silk Pie). I kept my patience. I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. Even with the pie selection wheel practically seducing me to turn their pages and find the best pick of the bunch. I thought I could handle it.
My husband’s food was a bit burnt, so we notified the server.
Why. WHY DID WE DO THAT?!
The server apologized and looked at my husband.
“Can I offer you a free pie for the inconvenience?”
He looked at me (as if to say, I know I shouldn’t because you can’t, and I want to support you but can I anyway?)
I looked at him (as if to say, are you really putting me in this place right now, I’m not going to say no, but I will probably hate you later.)
We have long eye-conversations from time to time. Keeps our volume kid-friendly.
It was like he reverted back to an adorable 6-year-old, hoping I would give him permission to get dessert, but right in front of the server. Ok – 1st of all, he can do what he wants. But this was my rock (me) hard place moment.
And 2nd, my daughter? She asks me,“Can I have a warm apple pie, a la mode?”
I had two people I love look at me with sad, soulful eyes. I wouldn’t have said no to them in the first place. But this truly sucked. This was going to be one helluvahumdinger for me. How the crap am I going to get through BOTH of them sitting in front of me, eating their favorite pie? I mean, look at them!!
So that was incredibly, mentally tough to go through. I sat on my hands. I sat on my flipping hands, people!!
I think there was a beast inside of me who wanted to go MMA on my husband for picking this place and then getting pie. But there was also the loving wife and mom who wanted to see them both happy. While I watched him chew, I just REALLY wanted to know if he could kind of REALLY comprehend what I was experiencing in my off-the-charts frustrating moment. So once he finished his pie, I started to share a thought:
“So, um. Brian. Remember back when you were a heavy smoker, before I met you? Ok. Let’s pretend you were still a heavy smoker and we were married then. And one day you decided to quit cold turkey (which he did). You tell me that you quit, and let’s just say about 22 days into your no-smoking regimen I, Anita, your wife, sit across from you at a restaurant (back when smoking was ok) and pull out a pack of cigarettes…”
and I proceeded to act out the whole bit: I took a pack of imaginary cigarettes out, packed it, flipped the lid open, pulled out a cig, popped it in my mouth, grabbed a lighter, lit the sucker up, inhaled, paused… then exhaled as I held the cigarette between my fingers and causally looked at him.
“What would you want to do, if I decided to smoke right in front of you, because I felt like it?”
I saw his eyes. They were big and focused.
“I’d reach across the table and grab your cigarette and snatch it from you, then take a huge drag and hate you for doing that to me. Okay… you made your point.”
I’m glad he understood. This sh*t is hard when your brain recalls how good something feels or tastes, and you have to play security guard and keep your old self from taking over your newer self. I don’t want to deprive him or my daughter of what they like to eat, but I know the stubborn beast inside me who wants what she wants can come out for certain things in life, and one of them is the FSP. But this time, I fought my stubborn brain and my stubborn Brian to get through a very tough moment for me. I could have easily called the server and had her add a slice for me too, and my family would have just felt happy that I was joining them. So this was truly all me putting in over time to keep my mouth from ordering a little ol’ pie slice.
I was part impressed with myself for dodging the FSP, but I swear I was getting delusional over that scene. Because I craved chocolate. Omg. I just wanted a piece of chocolate. It was time for bed and I had a moment where I looked at my 4th glass of water. I wanted to chuck it and go devour a chocolate that I know that is in my cabinet. Or grab a spoon of Nutella and just nom nom through that goodness. But I didn’t go there.
I entered my bedroom. I had asked my husband to put up new curtains. He surely did just that. The curtains needed to be ironed or washed so the folds won’t appear, so now look at my freaking, FREAKING new curtains:
THEY look like them, don’t they? DON’T THEY????
Eight more days.
I can do this, damn it.