I Don’t Feel Bad About Eating this Whole Bag of Lime Flavored Tortilla Chips
I don’t even like lime flavored tortilla chips, but did I sit on my couch and eat an entire 12 ounce bag of lime flavored tortilla chips as if that were my favorite crispy fried corn snack? Yes. And was it ten o’clock in the morning, after I had breakfast an hour or so ago? Yes.
But I don’t feel bad. I refuse to feel bad. That’s how the media wants me to feel when I eat a whole bag of chips by myself and in a fit of pre-menstrual cravings. So what if I ate it so fast that I don’t even remember tiptoeing at the kitchen cabinet to grab it, peeling the bag open, nor eating every, single, last crunchy triangle and their crushed bottom-of-the-bag brethren? I don’t even remember the that initial chomp between my teeth or the citrus zest on my tongue. It was just constant. Just a constant wave of hand to bag. Hand to bag. Hand to only bag. Oh it’s empty.
But I don’t feel bad.
Even when I sat looking on my couch, feeling the crumbs convene in the dip of the cushion to meet my sticky thighs, I didn’t feel bad. Even when I looked at the nutrition facts on the back and did the math in my head to multiply a serving to be the entire parcel, I didn’t feel that bad.
I mean I feel bad in the sense that I probably shouldn’t have done it by myself in my empty apartment and looked around after to see if anyone was judging me.
And I guess I feel bad that I wasted my cheat— for those of you who don’t know, that’s something bad for you. Not just when you’re dieting, but when you’re old and your metabolism decides to leave you for someone younger and more nubile. So I wasted my cheat— something I could have used for something like a good cookie from a bakery I love or the trendy ice cream sundae I’ve been eyeing from Instagram. I wasted my cheat on a bag of tortilla chips I didn’t even like.
You might ask, “why?” Why was that particular bag in your cabinet if you didn’t even like the flavor? And I ask you this, “have you ever had that jar of relish or pickles in your jar from Lord knows when? You don’t even eat butter chips that often and yet it’s there?” That’s what those tortilla chips were: a forgotten relic of a birthday party or office happy hour. It sat on the top shelf of my cabinet for just in case. Like, just in case I had a friend stop by and I needed to provide snacks, or just in case I had a potluck in the near future and needed to bring something.
Let me rephrase: I don’t feel that bad about eating a whole bag of lime flavored tortilla chips, because I wanted it, real bad, and if I had another in my cabinet, I probably would do the same. Because that’s what being a woman is all about, boys and girls. I ate a bag of tortilla chips. And I’m hella proud of myself, even if I do feel slightly self-conscious of my now bloated stomach. But whatever. Leave me and my lime-torilla food baby alone. It was my choice so step off.
