Or why I just put a perfectly good buttermilk biscuit down the garbage disposal.
The two skinny males that I live with seem to have decided recently that Popeye’s chicken and biscuits are the best thing ever. They are kind enough to indulge in this tempting food which I absolutely cannot have when I’m not home.
The problem is that they never eat all they buy, and so the leftovers wind up forgotten in my refrigerator for roughly two to three days before my willpower breaks and I consume them. I then cry and rail against my poor, unsuspecting husband for sabotaging me.
Not to be melodramatic – but leaving that stuff in the fridge of a food addict is about the same as leaving an open bottle of Jack Daniels on the kitchen table when you live with a recovering alcoholic. It is absolutely cruel and unfair, whether the person doing it realizes it or not.
Tonight I got home from class, and while going into the fridge for some water, I noticed the Popeye’s box. I immediately picked it up and said: “Whatever is in here needs to be gone before tomorrow night, because I’ll be here alone and have to cook dinner for myself.”
To which my husband replied: “It’s just one biscuit.”
He’s right, it’s just one. Here’s the nutritional information on that one:
Fat: 14 grams
Sodium: 500 mg.
Carbohydrates: 25 grams
That’s just ONE.
He went to throw it in the trash and I took it away and put it down the garbage disposal just to be extra safe. I’d like to think it’s utterly ridiculous to think that I’d have taken it back out of the garbage, but you can never be too safe.
It may seem crazy to some, but I’m important enough and this is important enough to me to warrant this kind of extreme.