Call me crazy, ladies, but I’m trying to swear off chocolate for a while.
This isn’t for waistline reasons, per se. I do all I can to eat healthy, more for the sake of taking care of myself in the long run than for any other reason. I run and eat a lot of salad, not for the goal of losing weight but for the goal of not gaining any. I haven’t stepped on a scale in weeks—I figure that perhaps blissful ignorance is the best course of action in my case.
At any rate, I’m hoping to avoid chocolate for a week or so. First off, I feel healthier when I don’t eat sweets, and healthy is a happy feeling for me. Second—my forehead has exploded into a warzone of painful-looking blemishes. Saying “blemish” is glossing over the grotesque reality of the volcanoes rearing their ugly heads in the space between my eyebrows and my hairline. The cause? Frankly, too much candy. All that refined sugar and whatever-it-is that makes up the deliciousness of candy is manifesting itself as a mini mountain-range across my organ of benevolence.
Candy is terribly hard to avoid, though. Starting in October, the chances of being confronted with or given gallons of chocolate increase and increase from month to month until June, when we all wake up and realize that it’s summer and our swimsuits look awful on us.
Think about it. In October there’s Halloween, and everyone’s handing out junk chocolate wrapped in orange and black foil. In November, there’s an influx of sweets, if not straight chocolate, thanks to Thanksgiving and the inevitable pumpkin pies. In December, it’s Christmas time (incidentally–Christmas is 9 months away; have you finished your shopping?), and chocolate, wrapped in festive reds and greens, is sitting out in attractive dishes on coffee tables.
In January there is a brief reprieve, thanks to the New Year’s Resolutions and Resolutioners, but there’s still leftover candy from the previous three months to contend with.
But then comes February. We all know what happens in February.
This year, Easter falls in March. For whatever reason, the celebration of Christ’s resurrection is now associated with chocolate bunnies and baby chickens fashioned from marshmallows. I don’t get that. But it means more candy.
I like chocolate. I really do. But whatever it is that’s growing on my forehead is one more oily day away from becoming sentient and starting to talk.
Therefore, I am determined to avoid chocolate—not forever. Just for a little while. Every time I’m tempted, I’ll reach for an apple or something instead.
I have a feeling I’ll be eating a lot of apples.