Pizza-stained Pajamas

I think I have worn the same shirt twice this week. I hope that no one noticed, but you know at least one person did. And now you are thinking about that person that would notice in your life. The noticers! They’ll get you every time (more on this later)

So, yesterday I talked about how my reactions to food mirror my dog’s. Today I want to focus on the biggest reason I overeat: emotions.

We took that picture this morning, so my hair is a little Bozo sheik.

My wife and I have been married long enough now that we have distilled certain conversational topics to one or two words. If I call her and say “Pizza?” she knows I have had a bad day. Just like when she says “Taco Bell” I know she has lost complete control of her faculties. Fast forward an hour or two and my belly is five slices fuller and I feel empty. Why did I think the pizza would make me feel better? I am not a scientist, but lets throw the word endorphins in here. Maybe it has something to do with endorphins?

Now that that is out of my system my layman’s response to emotional eating would be that it is an escape. Much like television allows us to stop thinking, overeating allows you to stop everything. Nothing says “I’m not moving for the rest of the night” like pizza stained pajama pants. In college when I got in a mood I would go to Wal-Mart, purchase two pounds of chicken tenders, one pound of potato wedges, a pint of Ben & Jerry’s, M & Ms and a coke. I would then plant myself on the mattress, watch movies and eat until I looked like a swollen possum on the highway. For some reason the end of that story made me feel like Jeff Foxworthy.

I think the crux of the problem is that I was looking for something to replace my emotion. The “full” feeling would conquer my depression. The “half my face just fell asleep” feeling was a whole other bushel of bananas. Crap, now I’m back to being emotional. Good thing Wal-Mart is open 24 hours.


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