(Thanks for asking about my diet. It’s still going. Trying to stay within 1200 calories a day, which gets tougher as it gets nice out and next to impossible when I travel, because you know I love my Michelob Ultras and gin-and-tonics. All we can do is our best, right? The countdown to the green bikini is, er, five weeks? I’ll be putting it on when I get back from Alaska. In private, not public. Pray for me. But for now I’m gonna talk about yogurt.
I’m not a fan of yogurt, TBH. But I know it’s good for gut health, and it’s an easy way to get probiotics and protein in me. I choose a brand that is the least repulsive and most palatable, and eat it with breakfast. I open it, grab a spoon, and shove it down my gullet in five bites before I come to my senses and change my mind.
Of course there are yogurt purists who eschew flavored yogurt due to the added sugar. Plain only, they say, just throw some fresh fruit in it.
Ew. No.
Isn’t the retch-worthy act of eating yogurt enough? Isn’t the very altruistic act of not making myself a 500-calorie gastronomically-orgasmic breakfast sandwich in my kitchen enough? For God’s sakes, I’m not eating a donut, or a breakfast burrito, or a full-stack of cinnamon-bun French toast covered in butter and syrup, so haven’t I paid my debt to society? It’s a crappy sixty-calorie container of blueberry yogurt. Leave me alone to eat it and be sad.
It’s like when I make myself these beautiful salads. I wash the lettuce lovingly in my salad spinner, cut all of my fresh ingredients, and make sure it’s super colorful for maximum nutritional benefits. And then someone is going to tell me I have to to spritz lemon juice on top of it? Really? I can’t use ranch dressing? If I use my homemade balsamic, I can only use a tablespoon? Really?
Dang, I’m eating a salad! Cut me some slack! I could be eating a cheeseburger and French fries! I hereby declare that salad dressing should never be used as an arbiter of weight loss. I promise to not overdo it, but excuse me if I use the type and quantity that makes me happy.
Back to yogurt. My yogurt purchase takes, oh, about five seconds. I grab a six-pack and go. But have you ever noticed how crowded the yogurt section always is? People stand there for hours, chatting and looking at their phones, like they’re at a concert waiting for the opening act. I’ve never understood what is so interesting.
Sunday at Wegman’s, I decided to find out. Through repeated stalkings of the yogurt section, I managed to eavesdrop on some pithy conversations. These three were my favorite. People kill me, I love them so much.
Conversation #1:
Man: (Picks up a Fage yogurt, turns to woman). Want to get this Fage?
Woman: Fay-yeh.
Man: Huh?
Woman: Fay-yeh. It’s not pronounced Fage, like the word “cage,” it’s pronounced “Fay-eh.”
Man: (Puts back Fage) Fuck it then.
Conversation #2:
Man: (Studying a label on a container of Chobani). Wonder how they make plain yogurt.
Woman: They don’t.
Man: What do you mean they don’t.
Woman: Well, all yogurt starts out plain, moron. It changes to flavored when they add ingredients to it.
Man: Well, I knew that.
Woman: Then why’d you ask.
Man: I didn’t. I was thinking out loud.
Woman: Can we go buy pizza and chips now?
Man: Yeah.
Conversation #3:
Woman: (Consults Oikos label)
Man: Can you just choose already?
Woman: I’m checking the sugar, hold on…
Man:
Woman: Lots of good live cultures in this.
Man:
Woman: Think we should go with Greek?
Man:
Woman: Twice as much protein.
Man:
Woman: (Puts it back) No, you’re right, Stonybrook Organic is the way to go.
Man:
Woman: (Considers flavors) Banana or Strawberry?
Man:
Woman: Banana. (Places it in cart)
Man:
Woman: (Pushes cart away, he follows). What kind of ice-cream do you think?
Man: