The Games We Play

I haven't exactly figured out what causes me to go on mad eating binges.  Sometimes I think it's stress.  Sometimes I think it's hormonal.  Sometimes I think there may be a hole in my stomach that causes me to be in a constant state of hunger, but considering that everything I eat is processed and turned into fat deposits on my ass, thighs and stomach, all signs point to no. 

Regardless of why, I've done some sneaky things to hide what I eat from others.  The first time I remember being ashamed of how much I was eating was in high school.  I had a boyfriend over, and we had ordered pizza.  I, being the delicate teenage flower that I was, only took one slice, and after eating it, proceeded to exclaim how very full I was.  It didn't take long before I snuck out to the kitchen to grab a drink.  My mother walked in to find me hunkered down over the kitchen sink, powering my way through two additional pieces of pizza. 

As a young single woman, I started to pack on the pounds as I ate my way through a period of time when my work/life balance was very heavy on the work.  I would frequently order take-out, and order what was plainly enough for two people (or the entire Duggar family).  A large pizza, Chinese food complete with six crab rangoon and soup, a big, sloppy Italian sandwich with cheesecake for dessert.  Often I would order these feasts with two drinks.  If it were a particularly big order, when they knocked on the door to my apartment, I would yell something like, "Hey, the food is here!", to my imaginary roommate/boyfriend/husband so that they delivery person would  be sure to hear that I wasn't eating alone.

Most recently, I went on a fast food rampage.  I would leave for lunch, stop at Taco Bell and get an order of the supreme nachos.  Then I would proceed to Arby's and order the jalapeno poppers, a fried chicken sandwich and a drink.  I'd sit in a vacant parking lot and eat.  I did this almost every day for several weeks.  I kept my own debit card and checking account separate from the joint account I had with my husband so that he wouldn't see how often I was eating out for lunch, and how much I was spending. 

I also recall shopping at Target earlier this year.  I had purchased a packet of giant cookies from the bakery, with creamy frosting sandwiched in between them.  I fully intended to eat them all in the car on the way home, and to stash the package in my glove box or down the side of the trash can in the garage.  I had the routine down, as this wasn't my first date with these particular cookies.  I placed them on the conveyor belt at the register, alongside my organic bagged lettuce, fresh produce and frozen diet meals.  I neatly tucked a diet Coke behind them as the old Sesame Street song ran through my head, "One of these things is not like the other things...".  The cashier picked up the cookies to scan them, and exclaimed, "Oh, these cookies are SO good!  Yum!"  I feigned a look of pleasant surprise.  "Oh really?  That's good to know.  I'm sure my husband will enjoy them".  I thanked her, collected my bags, and sauntered off to the parking lot where I would stuff my face in private, secure in my belief that the Target cashier did not think I was a fat, binge-eating pig.