Low Carb Dieting has become a banished word at my house these days. I'm tired of reading about it, hearing people extoll its virtues and feeling guilty every time I eat a piece of bread. Even pizza places are offering a pizza guaranteed to have sixty percent fewer carbs. Quite frankly, when I eat pizza I'm going for the carbo-load. And what's pizza without beer? Do I really care about sixty percent fewer carbohydrates when I'm scarfing down a couple of beers? To me, low carbohydrates equates to inadequate cellulite.
It's November. Holiday time. Everywhere I go these days are paper cut outs of turkeys and reminders that Christmas is just around the corner. The glow of hundreds of tiny Christmas lights already grace the front on my local grocery store. I dream about buttery cookies, pies crammed with fruit, the brown glaze of fat turkeys just out of the oven, mounds of garlicky mashed potatoes. I can barely contain the drool as I stroll through the aisles on my weekly grocery buying trip. Yesterday was my day to shop, and as I wheeled the creaky grocery cart (its wheels grinding and twisting and slowing me down) through the front doors, I noticed a woman sitting at a little table giving out free samples of yogurt. I love free food at grocery stores.
"Would you like to try our new low carb yogurt?"
Low carb yogurt? How many carbs does regular yogurt have anyway? And who counts carbs in yogurt?
"Sure, I'll try it," I said to the nice lady who looked at me with her head tipped to one side like a curious squirrel.
She gave me a plastic cup with a dab of yogurt inside, and a tiny little plastic spoon. I scooped the yogurt into my mouth and instantly gagged.
"Wow, that's terrible."
The woman looked hurt. "I think it's pretty good."
"No." I shook my head. "It's terrible."
The woman's mouth pressed into a firm line. She narrowed her eyes. "Most of our customers like it."
"Really?" I pretended to be impressed.
Behind me a soft voice said, "I'll try some."
I looked over my shoulder at a woman with dark hair cut in a pert little bob. Her frail wrists jutted from the sleeves of an oversized sweater. I noted that her neck was as slim and sleek as a swan's. Petite. I sucked in my stomach and tried not to feel too inferior in my size ten jeans.
The woman accepted the tiny cup and spoon from the yogurt lady and spooned the yogurt into her mouth.
"Ooooooh, yummy," she gushed.
"See?" The yogurt lady looked at me with satisfaction.
Dismayed, I glanced into the dark haired woman's cart. Mounds of fresh vegetables, low carb bread, soy milk, and about fifteen pounds of meat were crammed inside.
"Atkins?" I raised my eyebrows.
"Is there anything else?"
I imagined that my size ten jeans tightened around my hips. I smiled graciously and dropped my yogurt cup into the trash.
"Excuse me." Impulsively I headed for the beer aisle. "Who needs milk anyway," I muttered while piling two six-packs of dark, carbohydrate rich beer into my cart. By the time I was finished with my shopping, my cart was overflowing with all the goodies of the season. I even splurged and bought a box of Ring Dings.
I'm ready for the holidays and I plan on eating whatever I like. There will be no talk of dieting. Seconds for everyone. Carbohydrates will be celebrated. After all, they are organic. Would you like an extra scoop of glucose with the starch? I thought so.