Arugula and spinach salad with tuna and grape tomatoes...

Oh, darling invisible friend. It is Monday once again and the weight of my "lifestyle change" is heavy upon my shoulders.

I found myself thinking about what to blog today and the first thing that popped into my Dorito-starved brain was a detailed list of what I've eaten today. I know. I know. And you're right, it's a stupid thing to do. But that's what I wanted to do.

I can't speak for other women. I have no clue why they do this, too, but I have a theory. It's based mostly on me.

Yes, me. Because it's my blog. Oh, just play along, would you?

Here's my theory: Dieting rots the brain.

Oh, excuse me. Lifestyle change. Sigh. But it does! It makes us crazy. We think of it constantly, whether we're tracking Points or counting calories and obeying Zone percentages like they're the Word of the Lord. We measure, we weigh, we estimate, we fudge.

Ooo! Fudge! [SMACK!!!] Ow...

Anyway. It's what we talk about. It's what we think about. It takes over our lives. I hate that.

I can't count the number of times I, or friends of mine, have raced into a room, shrieking about whatever food item we'd just discovered that falls into our diet's parameters. Roommate met me at the door once with a bag of salt and pepper flavored mini rice cakes. [Roommate has a deep and meaningful affection for salt and pepper potato chips. The super crispy, kettle chips. Yeah. Don't get your hand near the bag. I'm just saying.]

"Look what I found." She waved the bag in front of me.

"Try one!" she urged. "Only FOUR POINTS for fourteen of them!"

I tried one. "Mmm," I agreed. "Kind of like the chips."

"I know!" She nodded. "And they don't suck."

It reminded me of my dear friend Carla, calling me with her latest discovery. "It'f ketta cown!"

"Kettle corn?" I translated. "Yum."

"Tuh grah of fad!"

"Only two grams of fat? Wow!"

These were the days when fat was the evil empire. Fat Vader. Or Darth Fat. Which was his name? Anyway, like the guy in the black cape. But shinier. Fat was to be destroyed. Avoided at all costs. Substituted with chemicals. Bad, bad chemicals.

They were, too. Bad. Hey, anything that makes potato chip manufacturers print on packaging, "MAY CAUSE ANAL LEAKAGE" is a bad, bad thing.

I can only say this. Forgive us for our limited conversation. Please. Because we live in a world that makes us hungrier than women have ever been and then punishes us if we don't have the jackrabbit metabolism to handle all we eat. A world that judges us and teaches us to judge ourselves to the point that we consider eating fake-fat potato chips with warnings like "MAY CAUSE ANAL LEAKAGE" on the packaging. Because we want to tell you what we ate, so we'll feel better about it, or so we can celebrate it, or so we know we're not alone in our hunger.

Forgive us.

Then tell us we're beautiful.

Hey, it's the next best thing to chocolate.