Control This
On my list of things to do this year (who am I kidding? I don't really have any such list). Let's just pretend that I'm that organized for a moment... On my imaginary list of things to do this year is "develop self control". You see I happen to have been born in a family of freaks. I have a sister-in-law that runs about a bagillion miles every week and although she has birthed three children, she looks like she just graduated from high school. She runs races more frequently than I floss my teeth. I know you're disgusted. So is my dentist.
I have another sister that has more self control in her pinky toe than I have in my whole being. Recently she and I were driving somewhere in a hurry and needed to grab a bite to eat. Carl's Jr. was closest. I opted not to get anything out of principle. Carl's Jr. commercial's make me nauseous and I'm taking a stand against their advertising department. While the average person would have ordered a burger or a chicken sandwich combo, my sister ordered the bunless burger....I'm sorry, what? A bun-LESS burger? What the crap is that? She opened the wrapper and I curiously peered inside to see a tiny piece of hamburger meat hiding between two steroid-enhanced pieces of wet lettuce. Watching her eat that hamburger was like watching a monkey do an autopsy on a slippery salamander. The moist lettuce launched the squishy meat onto the windshield every time she squeezed the burger to take a bite. Self control or not, I don't think above average hand-eye-and mouth coordination should be required to devour my meal. I'm just saying...
So now you have an idea of why I'm under quite a bit of pressure to live up to the standard my leaf-eating siblings have set for me. Blair and I went to a fancy restaurant in Portugal a few weeks ago, and this was my perfect opportunity to practice my self control. The restaurant was beautiful with a panoramic view of the ocean, freshly pressed linens, and beautiful hand-painted dishes and cutlery on the tables. As soon as we sat down, the waiter graciously placed a variety of delectable treats on our table. My mouth watered as I examined the breads, the seasoned green olives, and a plate full of cod fish rice fritters that looked absolutely divine. This place was fancy pants.
Blair, knowing that I'm not exactly from fancy pants upbringing, decided to give me a few pointers on eating in a restaurant like this. He informed me that all of those beautiful taste-bud gifts that the waiter placed on the table were not for free. You have to pay for every one of them. Every. last. olive. He told me that we'd order our meals and just push those appetizers to the corner of our table. I agreed. That was the sensible, self-controlled thing to do.
But as we sat there eating our food, those fried balls of spicy fishiness were tempting me with every glance. I started planning how I could quickly sneak one and rearrange the plate to conceal my thievery. And then Blair's phone buzzed, indicating he'd received a text message. The heavens rejoiced! As he concentrated on typing his text message on his lap, I softly reached across the table, gobbled that godly goodness, and strategically rearranged the fritters with time to spare. Victory belonged to me and the fritter!! We'd outwitted the husband. Wahahaha.
As the night crept onward, though, I couldn't help but feel a little guilty. I had to confess my contraband snack. Blair laughed at my ridiculousness and paid the bill with a smile. One more attempt at self control bit the dust...
So what are your secrets, folks? How do you develop self control?
I'd like to know how you leaf-eaters do it. Please divulge your secrets.
I have another sister that has more self control in her pinky toe than I have in my whole being. Recently she and I were driving somewhere in a hurry and needed to grab a bite to eat. Carl's Jr. was closest. I opted not to get anything out of principle. Carl's Jr. commercial's make me nauseous and I'm taking a stand against their advertising department. While the average person would have ordered a burger or a chicken sandwich combo, my sister ordered the bunless burger....I'm sorry, what? A bun-LESS burger? What the crap is that? She opened the wrapper and I curiously peered inside to see a tiny piece of hamburger meat hiding between two steroid-enhanced pieces of wet lettuce. Watching her eat that hamburger was like watching a monkey do an autopsy on a slippery salamander. The moist lettuce launched the squishy meat onto the windshield every time she squeezed the burger to take a bite. Self control or not, I don't think above average hand-eye-and mouth coordination should be required to devour my meal. I'm just saying...
So now you have an idea of why I'm under quite a bit of pressure to live up to the standard my leaf-eating siblings have set for me. Blair and I went to a fancy restaurant in Portugal a few weeks ago, and this was my perfect opportunity to practice my self control. The restaurant was beautiful with a panoramic view of the ocean, freshly pressed linens, and beautiful hand-painted dishes and cutlery on the tables. As soon as we sat down, the waiter graciously placed a variety of delectable treats on our table. My mouth watered as I examined the breads, the seasoned green olives, and a plate full of cod fish rice fritters that looked absolutely divine. This place was fancy pants.
Blair, knowing that I'm not exactly from fancy pants upbringing, decided to give me a few pointers on eating in a restaurant like this. He informed me that all of those beautiful taste-bud gifts that the waiter placed on the table were not for free. You have to pay for every one of them. Every. last. olive. He told me that we'd order our meals and just push those appetizers to the corner of our table. I agreed. That was the sensible, self-controlled thing to do.
But as we sat there eating our food, those fried balls of spicy fishiness were tempting me with every glance. I started planning how I could quickly sneak one and rearrange the plate to conceal my thievery. And then Blair's phone buzzed, indicating he'd received a text message. The heavens rejoiced! As he concentrated on typing his text message on his lap, I softly reached across the table, gobbled that godly goodness, and strategically rearranged the fritters with time to spare. Victory belonged to me and the fritter!! We'd outwitted the husband. Wahahaha.
As the night crept onward, though, I couldn't help but feel a little guilty. I had to confess my contraband snack. Blair laughed at my ridiculousness and paid the bill with a smile. One more attempt at self control bit the dust...
So what are your secrets, folks? How do you develop self control?
I'd like to know how you leaf-eaters do it. Please divulge your secrets.
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