We stopped buying crappy snack food a few years ago. I read some books about how bad partially hydrogenated oil was for you, and boom, our shelves were freed of sugary snacks that clog your arteries. I am not saying that I am a healthy person, but I figured that if I could draw this one line in the sand, we would be margarinally better off. (That may be the most clever thing I have ever used in a blog, marginally better off without margarine!) Everyone wasn’t pleased with the results.
We have grandparents visit us often, and they, like most other people enjoy snacking. For a while, the grandparents brought snacks and put them in our cupboards. This, however, lead to incessant lecturing by me about the evils of trans fats and the ensuing end of the world. This only lasted for so a short time before I became unbearable to listen to. I drove them into the closet!
Now, when grandparents visit, they bring their snacks and leave them in the guest bedroom, away from the prying eyes of the food nazi. Oh, I can smell chocolate on their breaths when they come out, and occasionally they have nougat dangling from their chins, but for the most part, the secret snacks remain secret. Malcolm, however, has noticed.
The other day, I went to put sugar in my coffee. I couldn’t find it anywhere. I looked all over the kitchen, and then increased the parameters of the search area as a check to see if my parents were beginning to suffer from Alzheimer’s. Nothing. I gave up and figured it would turn up somewhere simple in the next few days. Amy changed Malcolm’s clothes yesterday and found the sugar in Malcolm’s shirt drawer. She asked him how it got there, and he said "I ate it, because I wanted to." We don’t give the boy much sugar, and he, like everyone else who comes through here, is tired of me lecturing. So he has joined his grandparents in the sugary closet.
Tags: eating
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