Maybe I'll Just Get a New Fridge....

I play racquetball. I work out with a trainer. I ski at least a couple of days a week. It's not enough. Maybe if I get a 5 inch icebox I can exercise more portion control. Maybe I should just get my jaw wired shut. Take this weekend for example: Friday started out ok with a bowl of cereal and yogurt; scrambled eggs and a small dish of yogurt for lunch after I came back from skiing; steak, baked potato and salad for dinner, with two diet cokes and a beer. No dessert. Saturday rolls around and the skiing blows because Friday's mush turned into Saturday's death cookies (see, I even compare snow to food) and we come home early. I get bored, and the caloric shit hits the fan. It starts out pretty tame - I start the brisket for a traditional New England boiled dinner and then think about lunch, a nice, simple peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I forgot to bring the bread, so I make a batch of biscuits, and we devour the entire batch with butter and blueberry jam. Then I make peach cobbler for dessert that night and have leftover crumb topping (mmmmmm...crumb topping....can't waste that) so I make a quick coffee cake from the Fannie Farmer Cookbook for Sunday breakfast. After a movie I finish preparing the boiled dinner, eat that and devour 1/4 of a huge pan of peach cobbler with Ben and Jerry's Vanilla. Hey, it's Vermont. I didn't have any New Hampshire Ice cream on hand.

Sunday Morning it's pouring rain, but we decide to go out for a few runs anyway, thanks to gore tex. But not before consuming half of the entire coffee cake. Lunch was leftover brisket, peach cobbler for a snack, too full to eat dinner, then Geoff makes a batch of peanut butter cookies. I ate a bunch of them. Yep. My name is Evelyn, and I'm compulsive in every way.

Maybe it's not the fridge...it's the damned oven.