As I sit here drinking my daily hint-o’-chocolate probiotic powerhouse, I must thank my faithful readers for their interest in my last post. I received some excellent recipes for kefir smoothies and other concoctions and a recipe for probiotic wine gums. (Talk about killing two birds with one stone!) Several narrow-minded readers informed me kefir would never pass their lips.
I knew I shouldn’t have joked about causing my own recent infection by eating too many wine gums. J. took this comment as a challenge, and arrived home with additional information on the evils of sugar. Sadly for me, she learned from a very reputable source that excess sugar suppresses immune functioning. “But honey,” I told her, “my latest scratch healed without intervention after two weeks of infection. I’m in the clear.” Suddenly the cookie I was eating lost its appeal.
Then J. proceeded to throw the high-fibre sugar-laden home-baked bran muffin into her daily feedbag, along with a serving of sugar-sweetened yogurt. She insisted on keeping some of the gluten-free but sugar-full brownies I’d baked for a mutual friend (I did not lick any batter from the bowl, I swear), whereas I would have given them all away. J. also picked up 6 hot cross buns at the bakery a few days ago, heinous baked goods that I’ll have you know I have not touched. I have no idea if she’s dipped into her desk drawer at work that holds the chocolate stash she says she keeps for her friends. Do I hear the pot calling the kettle black?
I, on the other hand, had a sugar-free but prebiotic-full breakfast followed by a sugar-free but prebiotic-full lunch because I am a largely superior human being. Let’s not mention the few Jelly Bellies taunting me from the bulk section at the grocery store, which I downed as soon as I paid for them. Oh, and I added that scant teaspoon or three of chocolate syrup to my afternoon probiotic-laden kefir. My gut is dancing with joy as we speak.
It’s no surprise, then, that J. has decided, for reasons of my health (addiction?), that we will skip our annual Easter egg hunt, and not because: a) I am Jewish, and Purim, the Feast of the Hamentashen, was recently upon us; or, b) I am 52 years old. I have been forbidden from purchasing any chocolate Easter eggs, although no one can stop me from pining in the Easter aisle at the grocery store, as I did yesterday. I know J. cares too deeply about my well-being to give in to my base chocolate desires.
All I can do at this point is pray that Bob the Bunny will come through again this year. You remember Bob, don’t you? Last year, he left a stash of chocolate Easter eggs at our front door, but, despite the desperate pleas in my blog, he never revealed his true identity. I can only pray Bob reads my blog and will come through again this year. But I hope he doesn’t leave too many or J. will take them to work, allegedly for her “friends”. Yeah, right.