The most horrible thing just happened to me and I’ve got to share it with somebody (or several thousand somebodies): Every day around 3, I leave my home office to get coffee. I know I can brew some here, but when you work three feet from where you sleep, sometimes it’s just nice to get out of the house. So I take Winnie the Wonderdog and off we go to Starbucks or, more recently, Dunkin Donuts. I don’t know why or how or what, but ever since I’ve been off those damn antidepressants, Starbucks just doesn’t hold the same magic. (Don’t ask.)
So we go to Dunkin today and I pull into the drive thru. Once at the speaker, I yell into it, “One medium french vanilla with light cream and one Splenda please.” The clerk repeats my order back to me, which I can’t understand for a variety of reasons, but since I prefer to deal in good faith, I say, “Yes, that’s it.” And pull around to the window.
As I did, the craving for 8,000 Dunkin Munchkins overwhelmed me like a blast of tear gas. Like too much spandex. It was excruciating.
My body was screaming, “GIVE ME A MUNCHKIN. NOW, YOU *@(&$!!!$$@@@*”
Now, I’m not sure if it’s the 800 months on Jenny Craig for the return of a 12-pound weight loss (thank you middle age) or the fact that it’s that time of the month (thank you middle age) or the fact that I just wanted a Munchkin because they’re cheap and, dammit, they’re good and I can (thank you middle age).
But I wanted one. More than anything. And I mean anything. (Think three-carat diamond, a double-thick crust pizza from Giordanos, long silky blonde hair, a 12-book JK Rowling-esque book deal, long limbs, nail polish that drys in a minute, a closet full of Butterfly Dropout tank tops [preferably V-necks], and a lifetime supply of free Botox.)
Suddenly, I felt Bette, my Jenny Craig counselor, perched upon my shoulder. “Don’t do it, sweetie. If you lose 1/18 of a pound this week, you can lose 100 pounds by 2040. Granted, you’ll be 80, but you’ll be gorgeous!”
And then I felt the angry deprived fat Jewish girl who’ll never have thin knees in this lifetime saying, “What’s the difference, chubbo. You’re married now. Get a friggin munchkin. Who’s gonna know?”
I look over at the dog. I know her vote. And then it dawns on me. I’ll get three. Three lil’ Dunkin Munchkins–two for Winnie and one to satisfy my now Godzilla-sized craving. Who’s THAT gonna hurt?
The nice fellow leans through the window to hand me my coffee. Excellent timing. I pay him and say, “You know what? Can I also get just THREE Dunkin Munchkins? Anything but chocolate.” Chocolate can kill a dog and I don’t want to take the chance.
He smiles at me–that “I like you” smile. That “I get you” smile. That “I know what you REALLY want” smile. That “I can see you naked from the waist up and like what I see” smile. (Go figure.)
And within a few minutes, he’s leaning through the window to hand me the goods. I take it, thank him, thank the universe, roll up my window, and immediately notice that the bag feels unusually heavy for just three little hole-sized rolls of breading.
SHIT.
I look inside. There they are. The sight of it–of them–worse than finding Wendy Manuel and Tammy Levin together at Pizza Boy off Cottman Ave. when I was 16–after they’d both told me they were “busy” that day because they “had the flu” or “some strange stomach thing.”
Talk about feeling rejected, dejected, deprived, betrayed and panic stricken. There were at least 25 DUNKIN MUNCHKINS in that little paper satchel. And there I was, in the parking lot of Dunkin Donuts, alone with my mutt, staring at the traffic on 611, counting the hours til my next weigh in, having a come-to-Jesus talk with myself. It was a pivotal moment. Substantial. My choice could set in motion a course I didn’t even want to think about. (My ass, a farm tractor, hard to tell the difference. You get the picture?)
I look at Winnie. She looks at me and I begin to wonder how many Munchkins I can feed her WITHOUT killing her from too much sugar–and how quickly I can get them into her mouth. Better hers than mine. (After all, isn’t that what dogs are for? Someone once told me dogs were here to help us carry our burdens. But what about our cellulite? Does that count?)
At that point, I don’t have the luxury of time. My resolve is fading. Treating them like small balls of fire, I start tossing the Munchkins at her. “Here you go girl.” For every four I throw at her, I keep one for myself. And fortunately, I only wind up eating three.
Unfortunately, the dog is looking a little peaked.
Note to all the Dunkin Donut Clerks (especially those reading from the store on 611, right across the street from Target, a few miles downroad from the entrance to the turnpike): When blue-eyed, redheaded customers with white furry dogs and dazed expressions ask for three Dunkin Munchkins, chances are they want 100. So only give them two.
If that.
More later. And until next time.
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I have thoroughly enjoyed every bit of this review that I have read. The writing has a “Seinfeld” like quality. It has been a great read.
Keep up the great work!!!!!
Comment by Mary Jefferis — July 20, 2007 @ 1:18 pm
Dear Mrs. Sherer Murray,
I know exactly how you feel. At least I’d like to think so. One can never know exactly how another feels, but I’ll give it a shot!
I’m fifteen years old and I’m on something of a diet myself. Not a watching my weight sorta thing. But I am a teenage girl! (Self concious tendancies).
It’s more for health reasons. When I was ten years old things started to change for me. I became very tired, I was in alot of pain, and it seemed as if my body was working against me. Over the past five years things just seemed to get worse. Trips to CVS for every, somehow worthless, pain medication, no reall diagnosis, and a melting social life. We tired everything in the medical books. Intense pyshical therapy programs (I was on cruches now because it was too painful to walk). It was so hard to attend school and things were sort of left in my own hands.
In the past year I’ve found the best remedy, in the form of reading. Soon it became writing. I write everyday!
This spring, after my worst winter yet, my mom heard about this Lyme Disease specialist on a documentary. I went to see him in Febuary and he saw so many things in me that met Lyme criteria. The list of symptoms magically described me and I couldn’t believe it.
I’m almost half way through my 6 month antibiotic treament and I’m doing things I never thought possible. Three weeks ago I entered through the studio doors, my feet shuffling over the hard wood floors, were the Wednesday night Pilates class takes place at LA Fitness. As I caught my reflection in the mirror, chills swam up my spine and I wanted to cry. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. ME! WORKING OUT! Me. The Inactive Teen no longer!
Anyway, what I really wanted to tell you was how you should have seen my face when Dr. Raxlen told me that most Lyme patients try to stay away from carbohydrates and sugars. WHAT!? The foods that nurtured me. My comforts foods. So at first, what did I do? Ignored it big time. Then, I remembered bikini season was tapping me on the shoulder. Ohhh. Ah-ha. Maybe I should cut back on the candy? I began to modify my diet, slowly. First I found things to take their place. Over time my taste changed. I wanted things that were good for me instead. Remember, I’m shoving like six months into a few paragraphs, haha. Soon I started to feel better, noticing when I ate sugary foods, I was in more pain. Dr. Raxlen said the Lyme bacteria will sometimes thrive on it, making you feel worse.
To my suprise, this summer I got my first job! Where? To my suprise again, A DONUT SHOP. After about two days of working there I got sick of looking at them, though. So I don’t eat them. But I must say it doesn’t help that an employee discount could rack up the whole shelf and still come out to zero dollars and zero cents!
Your story reminded me of how people come in for three donut wholes and I’m required to tell them that the minimum is six! I feel the same way when I am out and I might as well be speaking french when I ask if they “make that sugar free?”
Even though I eat pretty healthy, every now and then (ESPECIALLY THAT TIME OF THE MONTH) I’d kill for cake or cookies or …. THE LIST COULD GO ON. You know that new Nicole Kidman movie, The Invasion? The one where the people are supposedly taken over by.. well I don’t know what but the trailer is already giving me nightmares. Haha. Anyway, there’s a scene where this man is crawling (like some Exersist extra) down a hallway (strange sound effects added).
Sometimes that feels all too farmiliar. Like me, only I’m headed for Acme, and instead of me being armed, repeating the peril, “No one touches my child!”, it’s more like “No one touches my honey mustard and onion Snyder’s pretzels!” And I’m speeding away (my own demons not far behind) in a car, hatch-back adorned with their intire stock of carb-enriched, sugar-inflated products. Then I’m headed (like Tom Cruise in War of the Worlds) to a place where nothing and no-one will find me.
Sincerly,
Another one who’s sticking it out. With a writer and creative one’s wit.
PS. Coldstone Creamery is my new best friend because they have a sugar-free, fat-free ‘Sinless Sweet Cream’ ice cream! It’s made with Splenda and it’s delicious! I don’t know how they do it.
Comment by Bobbi — August 17, 2007 @ 3:52 pm
Bobbi, I just want to respond to your comment and tell you that you sound adorable. I’m so pleased you were able to diagnose your Lyme disease and move on with your life. As a result of that experience, you now have a perspective that it takes some people years, if ever at all, to appreciate.
So I thank you for your tips (I’ll take all that I can get, even at my ripe old age) and for your beautiful story. You are a terrific writer and inspiration.
Keep using you creativity as a tool to manage your problems, whether they’re about dieting or otherwise. And thank you for sharing your thoughts with me and my readers. Keep them coming!
All the best,
Jill
Comment by Jill — August 17, 2007 @ 5:14 pm