Never too late to start a New Year’s resolution right? Either
way, pounds need to be shed. It is time to go where no carb-addict has gone
before- the Paws and Go salad bar. Gasps
from an imaginary audience. Yes, I am on my way to becoming the next
Victoria’s Secret angel, and marina sauce as a vegetable serving is not going
to cut it.

The first step is entering Paws and Go, but I am immediately
overwhelmed. Girls in Lulu Lemon clothes, glistening after their elliptical workouts.
Greek yogurt brands that I do not dare to pronounce. Gluten-free cereal. HOW DO
PEOPLE LIVE LIKE THIS!? But I do it. I cross the line from linoleum tiles to
cherry-finished hardwood floors. I feel the pounds shedding already.

I take a small box and fill it with mixed greens. Mixed
greens, not iceberg lettuce? Duh, vitamins are essential for an Alessandra
Ambrosio esqu bod. My vegetable selection starts off well. Cucumbers. A skinny
girl’s Wonder Bread. Green and red peppers. I like them drenched in ranch, so
hopefully they taste the same covered in purple lettuce. Delish! Chickpeas. Protein and good fats? Dieting is a piece of
cake. Shit. I’m probably not allowed to say cake in Paws and Go. Famished girls
in spandex could start to salivate.

And then I felt it coming”¦.oh no”¦stomach and muscle reflexes
are taking over my brain”¦this salad idea could backfire”¦Black out for thirty seconds and then look down at my box of salad.
FUCK. My Freudian id just topped off my salad with corn, blue cheese, potato
salad, Cesar dressing, and a half-pound of croutons. Blue cheese? I don’t even
like blue cheese! What a socially awkward food! Are people staring at me? Seven girls in sorority tanks and yoga pants
glare at me as if I had just snagged the last treadmill at the South Forty Gym.
They were excommunicating me with their eyes.

As I filed into line to pay for my food, I knew this would
be the last time I ever would get my daily serving of vegetables from Bon
Appetite dining services. Too bad my vitamin A intake would be accompanied by the
calorie equivalent of a Papa Johns pizza. As I wait in line, sulking in my
defeat and preparing to eat my feelings away, I reach into the freezer section
and grab a pint of the Häagen Dasz Dolce de Leche ice cream. It’s going to be a
great evening for a lactard.