The holidays are a tough time to maintain a boyish figure. In contrast, during a backpacking trek, calorie consumption is not a concern. Even a twinge or hint of hunger is justification to haul out a robust energy bar. But when time is spent sitting at a computer and the only calories burned come from avoiding the need to grade projects, then all variety of treats are a terrible temptation.
On one of countless treks to the kitchen this weekend, I demonstrated admirable resolve. No, I didn't avoid all treats. Indeed, an average-tasting sample of chocolate crinkle cookies, a handful of fig newtons, and some so-called fruits in the form of dried dates were each crammed down my gullet. What I was able to avoid was eating the barbecue chips on top of the fridge. How was I able to avoid this deliciously deadly temptation? Mainly by avoiding eye contact. Yet there the bags reside, on top of the refrigerator – lurking and tempting me like two satanic consciences (one per shoulder), tag teaming me with the imagined delights of crispiness in the mouth and salty, spicy sugar being licked from my fingers.
Despite numerous plaintive requests to not have certain treats in the house, they still find their way from the stores and into my grubby hands. Candy corn and jelly belly beans are small and tasty. Once a bag has been opened, it is just a matter of minutes before it is an empty shell. Why do the continue to appear? Part of it is seasonality: candy corns arrive in October and jelly bellies are usually gifts for birthdays (mine in July and the return of the sun in December). But the BBQ chips: why did they make an appearance, and why now?! The answer is pure economics.
Our local supermarket has gas pumps at one end of its parking lot. For every $100 spent indoors, we receive 10¢ off each gallon when we fill one of our cars. Sometimes there are promotions. This past week, by spending $50 on groceries in one trip, an amazing 30¢ discount accrued for gasoline. My spouse is usually quite good about estimating the cost of items in her cart. This day, something she meant to get wasn't available and when her favorite clerk (yes: we've been here long enough to form opinions and make acquaintances) tallied only $40 in purchases, an expected savings was about to be lost. Needing to grab $10 of groceries in a hurry, she ran to the nearby large bags of potato chips. Four bags would equal ten dollars and then we'd save thirty cents times a tankful of gas -- about $3.60 when the Element's fuel light goes on. I suppose there is some reverse Polish notation that would show me how this constitutes a savings. For me, there's the ever losing battle to expend more energy (or even an equal amount) to what I cram into my digestive system. Perhaps the calculus will all become clear and this won't be a loss of 40¢ but instead a tip of the balances toward snacking bliss and poor judgment.
