Buffet Bollocks.

Most of you will know now that I’m being careful in my food choices, I’m not on a diet per se but I’m just trying to be a bit sensible about what goes into my gob and avoid snacking or falling head first into the work biscuit tin and coming up covered in crumbs. It’s becoming less of a big deal and easier to say no as the days go by but sometimes my head likes to torment me until I want to smash it against something and my brains fall out.

Take Saturday night as a prime example. I was down in ‘Banjo Country’ for my sister in law’s sister’s surprise 30th birthday party at a lovely pub on the quayside, loads of friends, karaoke, a pink limo and…. a massive buffet. When I say massive I mean could feed the 5000 with some left over for doggy bags. I made the right choice (I’m reluctant to say that I was ‘good’ as I don’t want to categorise it as ‘good’ or ‘bad’ because that’s a route straight to the fridge!) and only had a few nibbles, nowhere near the amount I would have scarfed before all this. However I did spend the entire night stood next to buffet table fretting about how much food there was, how much was going to be left over and whether or not Humphrey Big Bear and my SIL were going to take it home with them.

I was actually fretting about it, hand wringing, foot tapping, the works. I also actively snarled at people who were not part of the party coming and helping themselves to the food. I tried to convince myself it was because they’d spent so much money on the spread and I didn’t want them to be out of pocket but let’s face it, that’s not what it was about underneath it all. I can’t quite verbalise what it was all about but I can guarantee it was to do with my food issues. I was like the gatekeeper of the buffet table hovering to stop those I deemed unworthy from getting their hands on it. My brother Humph kept asking if I was okay because clearly hovering by the food with a face like a smacked arse isn’t normal party behaviour.

I didn’t feel deprived as I had my very small plate of food and felt satisfied but I also felt obsessed by the outcome of the food. Had I suddenly developed a humanitarian bent and wanted to parcel up the food for starving children? No. I just wanted someone else to fill their boots with it, I mean if I the woman who could have single handedly troughed the lot a few years ago wasn’t eating it, who would?

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