One of my debating buddies, who is male and a little on the rotund side himself, has often admonished me for this so-called guilt that he can’t begin to understand. His belief is simple, if you want to eat something, then just … have it! He paints a marvellous picture of his getting through three, yes, THREE Mars bars, checking the pack for the last one, thinking briefly about whether to leave it till later, swiftly changing his mind and immediately peeling off the wrapper…because he wants to.
His philosophy is, when it’s gone, it’s gone!
Yet for me it’s never been that simple. It’s a known fact and probably the subject of many surveys that females in particular, when wishing to indulge in say, a chocolate éclair, mentally count the calories before they’ve even taken a bite, and while they may finish the forbidden treat, the guilt goes on far after the last crumbs and cream are licked from the lips.
Which idiot actually invented the phrase “a moment on the lips; a lifetime on the hips”?
I wonder why, if my friend is anything to go by, males don’t beat themselves up about their chunky chocolate bars, or their beer for that matter, irrespective of how they can no longer see their feet with their growing girth hiding them from view. I’ve seen some of these men eat, and believe me, anyone would think there was impending famine the way they wolf down their food and utterly clean their huge plates, and get this, sometimes even looking round hungrily for second helpings …and no guilt!
But putting all that boring argument aside, I know that since I bought a pound of slightly salted butter the other day, on a whim, and spread it on my toast, I am absolutely hooked and bound now to extol the virtues of ‘a little of what you fancy does you good’. And that’s the best excuse for indulgence ever.
And just so you know, we are only talking about now and again. It’s not a lifestyle choice to commence clogging up my arteries. Besides, which, I can only manage one Mars bar at a sitting.
But in this instance of re-introducing butter into my diet, folks, I make no excuses. I’m putting butter on my toast, and butter in my mashed potatoes. I’ve putting lashings of butter on my baked potatoes, a little knob in my scrambled eggs, more than is good for me on my crackers, and happily incorporating it in my cooking where mere low fat spread used to suffice.
It tastes so good. I’ll go as far as to say it tastes of my childhood, way back in the day when we used to get bread and butter with a cup of tea as a snack. It’s funny how tastes can take you back. And jolly nice it was too.
I honestly can’t remember, until recently that is, when last I tasted butter. It’s easy to get bogged down with what you’re not supposed to have all the time. And that applied even if you’re not even overweight.
But with this renewed love of butter I’ve made up my mind that I am going to enjoy my food, for a change, taking my friend’s advice. He’ll be pleased to hear that as he’s been trying to drum the concept into me for about a decade.
And I know what I’m like. I’ll indulge for a while and the novelty will soon wear off, or my pocket will deplete (butter isn’t cheap you know), but until then, no ifs or buts, I’m having my cake and eating it too.
On that note, I’m off to toast a crumpet and watch the rich ooziness melt into it.
I’ve put all my weight back on again in any case…so I might as well.
