And Mama Thought She Raised me Right

Occasionally, I eat like a 10 year old boy. When I go to the grocery store, I'm sure that strangers in line think I'm some sort of harried single mother since my cart usually includes: bottles of wine, lean cuisines, dog treats, mini corn dogs, bagel bites or Tostino's pizza roles, and juice boxes. (Hey - I need those juice boxes for long car trips. And by "long," I mean anything taking over 15 minutes. If I have to drive past the 459 interchange, I am an unhappy camper.) I am the only grown-up (obviously I use this term loosely) I know that has a punch card for Pizza Hut personal pan pizzas. About twice a month, I have to have a personal pepperoni pizza with breadsticks and a drink. (And, yes, they give me the child-size drink since this is obviously such a"kid" meal.) When I'm in polite company, I can pretend that I enjoy salad, chicken paillard, steamed vegetables, etc. But, the truth is that most of the time I would kill for some tater tots and birthday cake that's heavy on the icing flowers. Of course, as I am used to being a Southerner, I spend much of my time torn between the foods I really want and the desire not to be morbidly obese. (Oh, deep fryer - why must you tempt me with all of your delectable treats!) However, this past Tuesday I think I reached a new low. As my friend Josh and I were driving to Atlanta, I decided to snack on a chocolate bar I had tucked away in my purse for the trip. (After all, if 15 minutes is an arduous haul, you can only imagine how I felt about 2 hours in the car.) But, a couple of minutes after finishing off my Choxie bar, I noticed chocolate on my hands and was worried that I had gotten it in my hair. Then, I found a smear of chocolate across my knee and another on the back of the opposite leg. I thought I had eaten neatly, but apparently in my mad dash to consume sugar, I had gotten myself dirty in a way I thought I had gotten past when I turned 5. Even Josh seemed a little disturbed and like he wasn't sure he wanted to be in the car with me. But, rather than giving up my chocolate in the car, I've decided that I just have to amend my previous statement - Occasionally, I eat like a 4 year old...