Cheese in a Jar
Today, I'm paying for my jar of cheese binging. It feels like there's a fossilized radial tire in my gut. It's solid and implacable. Why can't I eat like I did in my younger days? There was this place in New York, Potbelly's, and I would go there often for their fries. They served it with either melted cheese or gravy on the side. I'd get both and call it lunch. I wouldn't gain an ounce and my body wouldn't go into toxic shock. But today, I might just possibly have to get over my fear of colonics.
I mourn that I can't eat a load of crap anymore!
The other day, my son said, "I don't like cheese pizza!" That's a terrifying thing for the parent of a finicky boy to hear. There are only so many things Sebastian will eat without fail. Chicken legs. Chinese ribs. Bread spread with Nutella. And up till now, cheese pizza.
Bash wasn't always this choosy. Quite the opposite. In fact I took great pride that I could get him to eat salmon and brussel sprouts with gusto. And I would derisively tsk the other mothers who would give their children Capt'n Crunch to snack on in the park. But my son's habits changed around the time I found him eating out of the dog bowl. He got more basic with his tastes: cereal no milk, pasta no sauce, pancakes no syrup. Then Sebastian refused to eat dinner all together. I'd threaten with, "Well, you're just going to have to go to bed hungry." But he'd hold strong. I'd finally let him be excused and next thing I knew he'd be on his hands and knees sneaking kibble. From that moment on, no green, no fish, no tofu. I can only hope he's somehow leaching vitamins and nutrients from chocolate croissants.
What if he doesn't like chicken tomorrow? And what if ribs are eighty-sixed as well? I'm afraid if I don't take some sort of drastic measure his entire diet will be in the hands of Purina.
Irony is a bitch. My son doesn't like cheese pizza, grilled cheese sandwiches, macaroni and cheese. (Now, that's fucked up. What kid doesn't like mac and cheese?) And yet, these are the very items I want to be scarfing down all day long. Even with bloated belly, I'm still obsessing over cheese in a jar.
I had to go to Albertson's this morning for some light shopping. I was nervous. Would the yellow jar be there as the doors open? Taunting me? Woosh. No chips. No jars of cheese. Now it's a pyramid of Pepsi, and I don't like Pepsi. Safe for now.