The story goes that my grandfather married my
grandmother because he fell in love with her apple pie. Needless to say, every
woman in my family can bake well enough to sweep the county fair, and leave
men’s watering mouths in their wake. My mother and I once entered the same
baking competition when I was 6. My cookies got grand prize, while her Angel
Food cake got 1st. The photo of me in my little dress, holding up
the ribbon with a smile as big as Kansas has her angel food cake recipe on the
back. It has been a moment of contention ever since.
While mother could bake anything without so
much as glancing at a recipe, her cooking skills were, well, non-existent.
Growing up, it was the running joke that if the fire department had to be
called it was because mother was trying to make dinner. My childhood meals consisted
of three items. Mac N’ Cheese, Lunchables, and hot dogs- the latter being
disregarded after the heimlich incident of ’92.
So when I launched out into the world on my own
at 15, my notion of what consisted of a meal was nothing if bizarre. That
entire summer while in France, the home of many a fine cuisine, I lived off
peanut butter. Literally. I ate a slice of bread with peanut butter for
breakfast, a bowl of peanut butter for lunch, and another for dinner with a
desert of Swiss chocolate. Don’t mistake me, I was by no means starving- I was
happy as a clam, and about as clueless as one.
Entering my adulthood, I had breakfast for
almost every meal. Breakfast was something I could do- after all, a pancake was
a form of cake right? And coffeecake, and biscuits… My version of cooking
involved putting a frozen pizza in the oven and hoping to God I didn’t burn it.
Mac-n-Cheese and PB & J was about as advanced as I got. Like Carrie of Sex
and the City I'd much rather use my oven for extra clothing and box storage. I
did have a bread maker- but really only because it looked nice sitting in the
corner covering the botched paint job. The microwave was my savior although I
have yet to understand why such a thing requires settings. You nuke it on high-
it's done. 'Nuf said.
It never occurred to me that such behavior was
weird until I caught a boyfriend staring, mouth dragging on the floor, as I
engulfed half a cheesecake for breakfast. “What?” I’d say. “Uhm. Uh. Well
nothing, I’m just wondering where that goes” he’d mumble. “Whadddamean?”
cheesecake filling my cheeks like a chipmunk. “Uhm nothing? You usually have
cheesecake for breakfast?” “Sure. Why not? Yesterday I had PB&J- just hit
the spot.” He looked at me completely bewildered and dropped the subject. Luckily,
(and here every woman will hate me), I have never been a large girl, so the
idea he was making some crack at my weight didn’t even occur to me. And then as
I got older, I developed this thing called self-consciousness…
The Destruction of Self Esteem:
"Is this you when you were a
freshmen?" My boyfriend's buddy Zeus flipped the college ID hanging from
the rear-view mirror towards me. "Huh? Oh yeah. I was 18 in that
picture." "Damn. You were hot!" I shot him a quizzical, slightly
annoyed look from the corner of my eye for the inclusion of "were" in
the statement. "Hey yo- check this out, look at what a hottie freshmen
Ashley was! Ha ha!" Zeus flips the card towards the back seat where my
other two guy friends examine and chuckle over the portrait. I purse my lips
and throw my hand back for the ID, trying to look more embarrassed about them
checking me out than the use of the past tense. "Dude, givit here. So
where was your car parked?" The subject is dropped as they turn their
attention to where their car had been abandoned during the bar hopping of last
nite. The "were" rings in my head, and I quickly shove it down. They
didn't mean it to sound like that, they're just a bunch of boys who don't
realize what they're saying. Pfft. Whatevs...
~
A finger pokes into my upper thigh.
"What's that?"
"Hmm? Whadda mean? You know I could really
go for some ice cream right now," not deterring my eyes from the screen
showing Travis Rice hurling off backcountry mountains.
"That. What your leg is doing there."
I glance down at the section my boyfriend is
poking. Suddenly he has my full attention. Holy shit. My boyfriend is poking my
cellulite. I tug my dress down and give him a scrunched up version of
"careful-thin-ice" eyes.
"What? what?! Cellulite? Is that what it
is?" He has his most innocent look on, as if he was six and just caught
his first frog. My look molds into a one eyebrow
"how-you-gunna-talk-yourself-outta-this-one?".
"Oh babe! I love you! More cushion for the
pushing!"
Why in the hell do men fill the need to make an
awful situation ten times worse by making a horribly timed joke? I glare into
the TV now and squish myself into the corner of the couch, willing it to
swallow me whole. He wraps his big arms around me and tucks his head into the
crook of my neck. "Oh babe, don't be mad, you know you can handle it. Want
some ice cream?"
Hell no I don't want ice cream. Not now
anyways. Thanx bud. Some flowers might be nice. I'm gunna see how long I can
stare at the tv to make this as uncomfortable as possible for you. I go to bed
in a giant t-shirt, slightly hungry.
~
*Bleep*Bleep*. My cell phone alerts me to a new
text for the 12th time in the past 30 minutes. Dammit Colin. Broken up for 6
months now he still felt the need to somehow win me back and/or yell at me via
text message. I was inches away from changing my number. I decided I had better
actually look at what he wrote, maybe then I could extinguish the onslaught of
texts.
"U may have packed on a few pounds, but I
will always luv u for who u r."
What. The. Hell. I jump to my feet, feeling as
if some physical action was required to defend myself. I end up forwarding the
text to my friend Hannah- my rock during our break-up.
"What!? U have not! And what a txt to win
u back!" We conferred on the rudeness of such a message for a while and I
went to work the next morning still fuming.
Our group at Victoria's Secret is pretty tight.
We know about each other's exes, and current relationships, what our boyfriends
liked to see us in, who was hung over at the meeting, and more often than not
wound up all PMSing the same week. I can't say there is a single unattractive
or really overweight girl working there, although along with everything else
our exercise and bad eating struggles are discussed frequently. I stuck my head
in the back room by the processing desk, "Dude, you're not gunna believe
the most recent Colin text message..." Kelsi looked up from the shirts she
was folding as I relayed my shock of the week. She shook her blonde head,
"Whatever Ashley, you look about the same as you did when you started here...
gah- dumb boys." We discussed the inferiority of the opposite sex for a
minute and concluded that I was above retaliating with an angry text and a neon
yellow bra was exactly what I needed. Our minds work in mysterious and slightly
ADD ways. I left work vowing to renew my gym membership.
Day 1: Going Vegan
I was in need of dog food for Erik today, and
decided while I was at the store I might as well stock up on some things for
myself. Never one for gradual change I decided that Vegan would be the direction
in which I’d leap. Not to mention I had annoyingly become lactose intolerant almost
overnight. I didn't have a clue what to buy other than organic things that
didn't involve an animal. As I swung into the organic section I stared at the
packets of Boca burgers and some bizarre thing calling itself Tofurky. I
decided the non-meat meat items were Toofunky, and that was a step I'd take
later on. Searching down the aisles for a milk alternative I discovered to my
dismay that none of them were refrigerated. Seriously? Milk that isn't
refrigerated? I looked at the shelves warily, glancing around to see if anyone
else felt this to be as strange as I did. The only other woman down the aisle
was in a muumuu, looking at cereal and didn't seem to notice or care about my
dismay- so I picked up a vanilla flavored Soy box. Mebbe something with
flavoring will be less of a shock. I ended up leaving the store with a package
of frozen peas, one of broccoli, my Soy milk , dog bones and Iams dog food. I
hoed and hummed over the dog section- wondering that if veganism was a moral
choice then should your dog leave the meat options alone too? I decided that
was ridiculous since it was necessary for their survival. Even if I'm going to
end up starving out of confusion there's no reason Erik couldn't eat well. He
thanked me by squirreling around my feet until I tripped and spilt the precious
cargo all over the floor. He's currently munching loudly on a bone, drowning
out the sound of my churning stomach. We'll see how long this will last.
