If I can get through PMT without so much as a sniff of chocolate then surely I can get through anything?
Yeah so, this episode of PMT has been pretty extreme to say the least. I’ve snapped, I’ve moaned, I’ve been continuously irritable (more than usual) and I’ve managed to get through 400g of Custard Creams in 4 days but STILL NO CHOCOLATE. I’m managing to avoid chocolate like it’s the plague. And I’m proud. Really fucking proud.
The weekend was difficult. Really, REALLY difficult.
This is a time I would usually consume ALL the chocolate. I’d visit Tesco on a Friday evening with my son and aside from milk (full fat, obvs) my basket would usually be filled to the brim with bars and bags of chocolate. It’s a good job I don’t embarrass easily, although I always have an answer prepared, should the checkout lady/man ask me why all the chocolate (they can be right nosey, judgmental bastards at times). I’m visiting someone in hospital. Someone who has a very sweet tooth.
Anyway, back to the weekend.
I’ll be honest. I wasn’t feeling all that well. I had ZERO energy. I felt sick and almost like eating food was a real effort. This is so unlike me. Eating is a hobby. I love to eat.
I went out on Saturday night with my 2 best friends. It’s the first time the 3 of us had been out drinking and eating for YEARS. Tapas was on the menu but while the food looked divine, I just couldn’t eat.
I felt stressed. This was picked up by my friends. Like I’ve said before, I don’t eat when I’m stressed. I put it down to my son having a meltdown when I left the house. I find it harder and harder to leave him now he’s older. He certainly knows how to push my buttons and put the old guilt trip on me.
I sought solace in a bottle of wine. Then another. And before I knew it, I was pissed. So pissed I fell asleep in a booth in the pub at 11pm. “Is this lady with you” the barman asked my friends. “Yeah, she’s fine, leave her be”. And he did.
Not one of my finer moments.
I miss the nights out of old, when I could easily sink a couple of bottles of wine and make a proper night of it. Not having to be walked to my front door by my best friend at midnight.
Sunday rolled round, complete with pounding head. This is why I don’t go out much these days, I just can’t handle the hangovers now I’m in my 30’s. They’re evil.
In my infinite wisdom I decide to step on the scales of doom. Surely my chocolate abstention would be kind to me? Nope. Not so much as a sodding ounce has decided to fuck off. Pissy ain’t the word.
We were going out for a meal for my Nan’s Birthday. It wasn’t the best. I was so looking forward to it, the reviews on Trip Advisor were superb, alas, the chef must’ve been having an off day (we all have them) and I barely touched my meal.
The dessert menu was presented to me and it took nearly all my effort not to have a full on tantrum and storm out of the restaurant. Just look at it.
I don’t like crumble. I hate pear. Affogato sounds like a goat and cheese and crackers is a snack, not a dessert. I WANT CHOCOLATE TORTE WITH CORNISH CLOTTED CREAM.
I went for the cheese and crackers. They were shit.
I’d love to say this Dechox is getting easier but I’d be lying. I just want chocolate all the time. Usually on a Friday night I’d be curled up in bed, watching the soaps, eating a large bar of chocolate or opening my second bag of Buttons. Not staring at a bowl of cornflakes wishing they were Coco Pops.
This weekend marks a third of the way through and I’ve never wanted to see the end of a month quite like I do right now. March is going at the speed of a snail.
There’s constant temptation. My Mum’s biscuit cupboard is stocked with Bourbon biscuits, Jaffa Cakes, those little mini chocolate digestive balls and MINI EGGS. Oh Mini Eggs, how I love you so.
Still, at least I can take comfort in watching other people eat chocolate. It’s not like I have evil thoughts about them chowing down on a chocolate tart or anything.
Try not to choke on it.