Confessions of a Closet Donut Eater.

Even before we were given the diagnosis of cancer (so for the few short weeks between Matt’s seizure and surgery), we were researching cancer. Believe what you will, but we know that a big part of our fight against cancer, and other diseases for that matter, begins with food. No added sugar. No white flour. Minimally processed foods. It was a swift kick in the butt to our previously “healthy” lifestyle.

Matt hasn’t had a drop of anything that does not have a specific purpose in the body since September. I, on the other hand, have dabbled. So sue me. I love a good blueberry munchkin from Dunkin’ Donuts. I remember two months into this new lifestyle, running by and getting six donuts, coming home, heading to the bathroom and devouring them. Why the bathroom? So no one could see me eat them (as if you had to ask). Was Matt home? Of course not, but the neighbors might have seen and they may have let it slip that I wasn’t as committed to our new lifestyle as Matt. We couldn’t have that now could we? We are a team. On half a sugar high.

Here is where I let you in on a flaw of mine. I’m a HYPOCRITE. I write it in large letters, because it is something I normally try to hide. But, like most hypocrites, it comes out every now and then. Believe me, Jesus and I are working on it. Back to my story.

Yesterday, I wanted a milkshake. It was 10am and I was ready for one. By the time I picked Matt up for his eye appointment around 1pm I had decided that milkshakes were for gluttons… I even told that to Matt. Gluttons of taste. I do believe the words “our culture is so sad” came out of my mouth. I am not proud of it, but I promised you a story and I never lie.

I dropped Matt back off at work and headed straight for home because I had a mountain of clothes on the couch that weren’t folding themselves. So it came as a shock when the attendant welcomed me to a local fast food joint drive-through and the words flew out of my mouth that I wanted a chocolate milkshake and yes, the whipped cream and cherry on top were fine.

It takes about 17 minutes from said milkshake stop to my house. I had sucked down every last drop by the time I flicked the blinker to signal my arrival to the neighborhood. It tasted like sugar with the tiniest bit of betrayal sprinkled on top.

Let’s say an hour or so later, I started feeling bad. Physically, I felt like I had been hit by a fly ball. Right in the face. And throat. And Stomach. Not eating sugar and then downing three or four times the recommended daily amount is not something I recommend. Not to mention, I felt all the shame and guilt that comes with cheating on your husband.

By the time I picked Matt up from work, I knew he was on to me. But the best cheaters don’t let on until they know for sure certain they are caught. I, being the clever one that I am, neatly threw away the evidence in the outside trashcan. I, being the clever one that I am, would not be getting caught.

He hopped in the car and said laughing, “Ronny (his boss) said, ‘How ’bout you eat something? Like a milkshake.” Why in the world do you start off a conversation like that? Did he know? Not a word. Keep it together girl. By the time we got home, I felt a fever coming on. One that had a friend named Shame and he invited him to stay with us for the night.

Here is the thing (and the reason all of this isn’t over the top in our house). We are a team. Through this whole thing, I want him to feel like we are doing this together, because we are. So when Matt decided to do the chilvarous thing and take the trash out. TO THE OUTSIDE TRASHCAN. He returned inside to a girl crying on the couch knowing she was b-u-s-t-e-d.

I AM SO SORRRRYYYYY. I was balling. I confessed like a devout Catholic on a plane headed for a crash. I’LL NEVER DO IT AGAIN IT DIDN’T EVEN TASTE GOOD I’M THE WORST HOW COULD I DO THIS IT CALLED MY NAME AND I JUST COULDN’T SAY NO. (Dramatic much?)

“What didn’t taste good?”

This was the moment, I realized I gave Matt too much credit. You see, when I open the trashcan lid, I do a quick analysis. You know, sizes, shapes, how it smells from a distance, how much more can fit in. Matt, on the other hand, opens and closes without so much as a sideways glance.

I’m sorry sugar, but we are breaking up. For good. It’s not me. It’s you. I’m committed to this team.

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