Wednesday, April 15, 2009

Potato Bars and Skinny Little Imps

I sat across from a skinny chick at church dinner tonight.

I watched her, venomously, as she ate her baked potato covered in chili. I observed her two small children and her tiny, size zero pants and her flat stomach. I had never met her before and I am certain the vibe that she got from me was "psycho, psycho, psycho."

Every Wednesday we have dinner at our church. This is very welcome to me, as I don't have to plan a dinner for my children and my husband, who annoyingly prefers a meat and some sort of noodle/potato/bread with each of his meals.

I anticipate these meals. Freakishly so, I'm afraid. I experience glee when I find out what they are serving and revel in happiness if it is something I think is particularly tasty. Like tonight's potato bar.

What a wonderful thing: One starts off with a plain baked potato and if the heart delights so, s/he may add chili, sour cream, cheese whiz, bacon bits and other fantastic variations of "foods-that-make-a-plain-baked-potato-completely-kick-ass."

I try to hide the said glee, as I am horribly fearful of judgment by others as being the "fat girl that is enthusiastically piling her plate high full of food" and "oh, wow...she looks unnaturally excited standing in line at a potato bar."

I have a picture saved on my computer with a girl looking at a piece of cake with a psychotic look on her face, the caption reads "True Happiness: Easier for Fat People." I totally get this. And sadly, it is true.

This said glee was not hidden well several weeks ago. We had arrived at church after a long day of flying back from Florida ~ my only thing to eat since breakfast had been a package of Jack Link's which I paid, like, six bucks for on the airplane.

I bounded out of the car and into the church, excited to see what was for dinner...which happened to be tater tot casserole. My heart leapt with joy at the anticipation. I think back to the aftermath of my eating this casserole and I am shameful. I vaguely remembered the little boy sitting next to me looking at me with awed fascination as I shoveled it in. I'm sure I was a sight.

So, tonight as I sat across from this adorable, tiny little IMP, I couldn't help it: I was green with envy. She didn't look like a crazed maniac as she ate and I longed.....LONGED, I tell ask her if I could accompany her home to see what was in her refrigerator. Or at the very least, if the refrigerator thing was too nutty, to come with her to grocery store and see what she puts in her cart.

Because I am SURE it isn't chips, French onion dip and frozen eggrolls to eat at 9pm at night.

Damn the super taste buds...they are making me fat.