My dessert eating had finally gotten out of control. It was time to put a stop to it, and Lent seemed to be as good enough of a reason as any. So this year, that's it -- no more sweets, no more dessert. For the next 40 days, I'm going cold turkey.
For some of you, that doesn't sound like much of a challenge. But I grew up in a household where dessert wasn't only a privilege, it was a right. I honed my ice cream love through college thanks to the aforemention (below) Ben & Jerry's. And when I met Maria, I got spoiled. She was always on a quest to create the perfect brownie, or the best-ever lemon tart. I was the lucky food tester.
I managed to avoid plumping up through my 20s, thanks I suppose to metabolism. And when I hit 30, and my metabolism started to give, my braces kept me in line. I wasn't eating as much anyway, so that pint of B&J's wasn't the end of the world.
But then, in a one-two punch, my braces came off, and Evan was born. Yes, I managed to throw on some new daddy pounds (gym? Who has time for the gym?) -- and those desserts were the most likely culprits.
So it's time to stop. But it's not going to be easy. I was already hit with my first temptation at lunch today, as I sat through the first part of the Publicists Guild of America luncheon (don't ask) at the Beverly Hilton. Usually these rubber chicken lunches are only redeemed by whatever chocolate concoction is whipped up for dessert. And that truly was the case this year. But I stuck to my guns -- I ate the strawberry and raspberry surrounding the chocolate/fudgy slice... but pushed the cake away in the end.
39 days to go!
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