Wedding Waddle

Since when did I start liking cake? I’ve never liked cake. For years and years I have been the one to bypass the big layers of bad and go for the fruit whatever. I’m a pie or tart girl. When did I give up the eat smart/eat healthy routine and opt for the Bring It On attitude? Examples: when our Austrian friends got married I attacked the buffet line like a linebacker with a big bite. When our German friends got married I got my own huge plate of everything and thensome. I had a healthy belly for the beverages, too. Merlot and two sour apple martinis. In that order. When did that happen? It happened to go right to my head.
To celebrate the season finale of The Closer Kisa and I ordered pizza. We stayed true to our tradition of wheat crust. Everything else went by the wayside. We ordered two zahs: Greek goodness (feta cheese, black olives, spinach, tomatoes, double cheese)…and an Aloha (ham, bacon, pineapple and…you guessed it, double cheese). Caution to the wind, diet be damned. It was damn good.
To make matters worse, my illicit affair with the vending machine has started up again, too. In short time I’ve got my routine down to a science. I wait until no one is around, slowly sidle up to the humming, glowing love machine of sweet and whisper my own sweet nothings in the form of quarters. Mr. V gives me exactly what I want, when I want it. I steal away, tearing open the wrapper, devouring chocolate and salt as I retreat back to my office as quickly as I can. I don’t want to be caught in the act, but the evidence of my betrayal lies in the trash. I won’t lay claim to it if confronted. Yet. Yet, I’m waiting for the day when I no longer care. When that day comes I’ll flaunt my unhealthy relationship with Mr. V. and brazenly chose a Snickers or Doritos with ease. E5 and B2. I’ll blatantly leave candy bar and potato chip wrappers in my wake, not even bothering to cover the crime. That day can’t be far off.
For some reason I’m liking this throw caution to the wind consumption, this eat everything in sight daring…except when it’s time to squeeze into those professional slim-cut pants or those cut-off-the-circulation panties. It’s enough constriction to go commando. When did this happen? Where was I when the health nut decided to leave town?