Food Karma

I love food. I really do. My love for food outweighs my desire to be thinner, and I would REALLY like to be thinner. I can’t even attempt to deny it. Sweets will forever be my downfall.

Monday night, I let the kids each choose a place to get “special dinner,” which is a nice way of saying Fast Food. Justin was flying home from California (lucky–he never lets me go in his place on any work trips. Every time I say, “this time you stay home with the kids and I’ll go to,” wherever he’s headed, he just laughs at me. Not cool, Steeves), and we were at gymnastics until 6pm. So, after stopping at McDonald’s for Xander (his only requirement for fast food is a toy), we went to Taco Bell for Shea (her only requirement is Taco Bell. Every. Single. Time). Even though I told myself I wouldn’t do it, I went ahead and ordered a dozen (don’t judge me) Cinnabon Delights. They are so flipping amazing, and I really can’t help myself. Halfway home, I popped one in my mouth. And it was so……..


What just happened!? I waited a minute and tried to figure out what exactly was wrong with my taste buds. I smelled them.

Taco seasoning?

I ate another. Sugary goodness, followed by a definite Tongue-on-Fire sensation.

This is the Universe punishing me for deciding to eat those super unhealthy, amazing balls of empty calories.

Xander said I looked like a princess from Candy Land. I have a hard time being normal.

This is also not the first time Food Karma has gotten me. Back in early December, toward the end of my grocery trip, I decided to treat myself to a (small) container of Nutella. Did I need it? No. Did I have to be able to fit into my military ball gown in less than a week? Yes. At the register I realized the top was broken-no big deal, I’ll probably eat this little baby container in one sitting (I told you not to judge). Of course then the cashier opened it and pointed out that the foil was broken, and asked if I wanted to go grab another one. I knew right there, this was my dress sending me a warning across the universe. Stop. You don’t need to be “treating” yourself to a tub of Nutella days before cramming yourself into a dress that is already a tight squeeze!

Thanks, Karma. As it was, I spent the military ball breathing shallow, and by the time we got home, I was pretty sure I just might pass out from the lack of oxygen. How in the world did women wear corsets!? I like my oxygen plentiful, and my lungs to be able to fully inhale. But my dress sure was pretty.

This time, the universe was probably telling me to stop whining when the number on the scale goes up. Or stop eating things like Cinnabon Delights. Instead, Shea helped herself to them.

“Shea, someone made a mistake and used something spicy when making these. Are you sure you still want one?” She then ate it and told me it only tasted spicy because she had eaten Fiesta Potatoes. The next morning she asked for a couple more, and then told me they were only spicy because I warmed them up in the microwave. She does not believe in Food Karma. Obviously I’m just doing something to make them taste spicy.

I should probably stop telling the Universe my intentions. I send my skinny thoughts out into the world, and they aren’t coming back in the form I would like them to. I would prefer to just lift weights and run and eat unhealthy deliciousness, and still lose weight. Instead, it comes back to me in the form of food sabotage. Thanks, Universe. Maybe I should appreciate and accept my Food Karma. Maybe I should practice a little more self-control.