In Which Amy Talks Junk . . . Food

Have you ever opened your cabinet, examined the contents and thought, "Damn it, there are just not enough snacks in here."?

Have you ever lingered a little too long in front of the Little Debbie display at the grocery store?

Have you ever jammed your kid's Goldfish crackers into your mouth while hiding behind the open door of the fridge as you dig them out a healthy snack of carrot sticks?

What?

Me either.

(hanging head in shame)

I grew up in a house where junk food/snack food/good food was nearly non-existent. No soda, no chips, no sugary cereals, no candy, no snack cakes. Nothing. We had two drink choices: water or milk (if we were really lucky, there was a container of iced tea in the fridge, but that was only during the summer). Until I was about 10, I thought ice cream only came in one flavor combination--vanilla-chocolate-strawberry--and was served in minuscule servings of each flavor. The portions were so small, one scoop be eaten in one go and then you were down to two flavors. Nacho chips brought into the house were for "recipes" only, but I have no idea what freaking "recipe" Mom was using them for since I never saw them in or on anything that was served at dinnertime. And if a 6-pack of Diet Coke somehow snuck its way into the pantry, I would sniff that shit out so fast, bloodhounds would look at each other and say, "Damn. She is good."

We got candy three times a year: Halloween, Easter, and Christmas. And, honestly, there wasn't even that much on those days either. The Easter baskets and Christmas stockings would have candies in them in accordance with their respective holidays (ie chocolate bunnies, chocolate coins, and etc), but mostly the goodies were fun little tchotkies or--my favorite--new panty hose to wear to holiday dinner but would promptly rip as soon as I tried to put them on. Halloween candy never seemed to last as long as it should. Dad would commandeer the mini Snickers bars and Mom would reassure us that she was going to "check" the candy after we went to bed for the urban legend trifecta of razor blades, poison and syringe puncture marks.

(Check the candy my ass, Mom. Where the hell did all my Three Musketeer Bars go?)

One of my first paychecks from my first job was spent solely on junk food. No, seriously. I blew an entire paycheck on chips, candy, and other junk which I hid around my room. I made myself a list of the hiding spots (which I lost almost immediately, of course) and got down to the delightful business of eating all the snacks I could find. I never ate $40 worth of Lays potato chips and Twizzlers faster in my entire life. So fast, in fact, I'm not even sure why I hid it since I ate it all in one night. Except for the Milky Way I found later that summer melted all over the inside of one of my sneakers.

(Stop looking at me like that. Those actions are not signs of an eating disorder.)

The first time Erick and I went food shopping as a newly-moved-in-together couple, he asked me if I wanted anything to snack on.

"What? Like chips?" I asked.

"Sure."

"For real? Chips?"

Erick looked at me kind of oddly and a little nervous like he was thinking, "What the hell is wrong with her?"

Oh, the potato chip aisle. It was like something out of a dream for me. I couldn't have been happier than if you had told me Wonka's Chocolate Factory was a real place and I was allowed to live in the Chocolate Room. Chips and salsa had a regular spot on our shopping list from that day on.

My love affair with junk food has hampered me though. Trying to squeeze into a wedding dress while consisting almost solely on a diet of soda and pizza is nearly impossible. Realizing that taking in a dress is easier then letting out a dress, I dieted my ass off and slid into that frothy raw silk confection on my wedding day like a spoon slides into a container of Fluff.

(Again with the looks. It's an analogy, people!)

I had a flat stomach for the first time in my life. Turning sideways in the mirror while on my honeymoon, I admired it. Wow, I was hot. There was no way I was going to loose that flat tummy and thin (okay, thin-ish) thighs. Then Erick and I went to Disney World and I proceeded to eat my weight in Mickey Mouse shaped ice cream bars.

If you read my statuses on Facebook, they're pretty unvarying: rum, Lizzie, Erick's obsessive fantasy sports habit, food. In fact, one of my statuses tonight was about how I couldn't decide whether to eat another Little Debbie snack cake or crack open a pint of Ben & Jerry's.

Surprisingly, Lizzie doesn't share my swoony delight of the crap food. Oh, don't get me wrong: that girl can put away a serving of Ben & Jerry's Fair Trade Vanilla like a pro (it could be the fact I ate 3 to 4 pints of B & J a week when I was pregnant), but she will choose fruit over candy any day. In fact, she hates candy. Don't try to give her chocolates or gummy bears. She'll turn her perky little nose up at them every time and ask for grapes or carrots instead.

She certainly didn't learn that behavior from me.