As some of you may know, I am currently on the Writerghoulie Diet. It’s part-Paleo, part-Dukan, part-Iwillshankyouforthatdonutbitch. Okay, I’m not a nice lady when I’m crashing from a carb binge. I can feel my mood sinking as my blood sugar dips. I’m a danger to society a half-hour after a piece of pizza. This is one of the reasons I went mostly Paleo/Dukan to begin with. When I eat proteins, I’m almost pleasant (I said “almost”, let’s be realistic, here.). I don’t attempt to incinerate people with my glare. I hardly mutter under my breath, and when I do, it’s mostly about stuff I’m doing, not threats to cause bodily harm to others. In short: this planet needs me to eat proteins, and to eat frequently. And I try to do so. You are welcome.

This is why, when my trainer/editor/mentor (now that I’ve thrown that title out there, there’s no way I’m giving him the satisfaction of mentioning him by name. Because fuck that guy. Oooooh, see? CARB RAGE!) introduced me to P28 high protein bagels & breads, I was soooooo thrilled. Wait, bread you can eat on a high protein diet? Yes, it contains carbs, but so does my oat bran for 2nd breakfast at 7 AM, and my protein bar at 1st breakfast at 4 AM. It’s not like I was ever completely carb-free; that would be unhealthy, one would think.

So, I bought some P28 goodies–bread and bagels, both–expecting them to taste like feet or ass or some other unpleasantness (my apologies to those of my readers who enjoy the taste of toe jam or rectal sphincter. Wait, no! No apologies!  Ew, ick!). They were expensive, but no more expensive than buying bagels one-at-a-time from Tim Horton’s or Starbucks, and I’ve done that a million times. Might as well pay for the thing my body wants, the thing that makes me less nutty (yes, that’s possible, and YOU shut up), the thing that keeps my weight in check.

Taste: HOORAY! Phenomenal. Love them. So happy. Taste as French Toast: YESSS!! This works! A bread I can eat guilt-free that doesn’t make me crash and snarl and bloat and fall asleep mid-afternoon.

However….

*Writerghoulie curled on couch trembling, face covered in red, weepy, grouchy, toast-crumbed*

Viking: Oh, I’m so afraid to ask, but that is JAM on your face, right?

Me: Maybe a little.

Viking: You look like you gutted the Kool-Aid Man. With your teeth.

Me: That doesn’t even make sense! Why would there be JAM inside the KOOL-AID MAN?

Viking: Why so angry, Crazy Wife?

Me: I’m not! I’m not! I’m FINE! EVERYTHING’S FINE!

Viking (backing away, pointing): I know that voice. That’s the Carb Crash voice. You ate TOAST!

Me: DID NOT!

Viking: What happened? I thought you had your heaven-sent protein bread.

Me: I ate it.

Viking: ALL of it?

Me: It tastes good, and since when am I one of those, you know, those people who don’t…do stuff they want?

Viking: You can’t even get out a complete thought.

Me: YOU NEVER COULD!

Viking: Settle down there, Hulk. What happened after you ate the loaf of P28?

Me: I might have chomped all the bagels.

Viking: And then…?

Me: That stuff is sneakyass shit! It lead to English Muffin shenanigans and a Wonder Bread bender.

Viking: Let me see if I understand, and I’m just going to say this from the front porch, through the window at you, for no reason at all. Okay?

Me: *snarl*

Viking (taking up his new position): You’re blaming the makers of P28 bagels for this backslide off your diet?

Me: They made me think positive thoughts about bread.

Viking: Mmhmm. P28 is a gateway drug. Is that the story you’re going with?

I thought about it. It would have been far more satisfying for me to jump all over that explanation, ridding myself of the guilt. But my husband was smirking, and that usually means he knows I’m gonna try to sidestep out of something, and he was fully prepared not to buy a word of it. I shook my head slowly, sulked, glared a bit until I felt better, and resolved to work harder at resisting temptation.  When later I had a magnificent post-carb headache, I didn’t curse the innocent high-protein breads … I blamed that little voice in my head that had promised me all breads were equal, and if I could eat this one I could eat that one, and no one would be the wiser.

The lesson here is simple, and is one my mother has been trying to drill into my hedonist head my whole life; everything in moderation. This flies in the face of my own “the purpose of life is pleasure” philosophy, and my personal motto: “GIMME THAT!” But I think I’m capable of learning this moderation stuff …

Hey! Whaddya mean, “ha”?? Buncha wise guys…

(editor’s note: AJ Aalto is absolutely, positively NOT capable of moderating her behaviour in any way, shape, or form. You are correct. Perhaps unwise in pointing it out, but correct nonetheless. It was nice knowing you. Sleep with one eye open.)