I tried to stick with the vague, somewhat intellectual-sounding titles throughout the course of running this blog, but with recent developments, I felt this one was necessary.
With my assignment given to me last Tuesday, I decided to wait until Wednesday to give up dairy. Tuesday had already been shot — I had half jokingly assumed she’d cut me off from both dairy and gluten since my mom’s coworker with the same problem had to give up both, so I had eggs, yogurt, milk and toast with farmer’s cheese for breakfast — and I wanted a little more time to prepare myself (read: get an ice cream cone from Dairy Queen) before committing to a month without any casein-containing goodness.
I had to drop off my car at the dealership first thing Wednesday morning to get my clutch replaced (apparently some kinds of automatics still have clutches?), and it just so happens that one of my the offices where my mom works is just up the road, as is the local donut shop, so I decided to be nice and drop off 2 dozen donuts. It was a little upsetting because I had to be like “hmm I’ll take one of everything and I can’t eat any of them,” but the ladies at the office appreciated them and the aforementioned extra paycheck came that morning, so it felt good.
Wednesday is also the day I work a later shift, so I did other productive things like get the face soap recommended by the new doctor, go to the gym, and made my lunch and dinner for later. Work was busy because last week was one of those weeks where stuff hits the fan all at the same time, and I had to get a little creative with an after-work dessert, but otherwise it was a pretty normal day.
I came home, and I walked in the kitchen and the stupid donuts were on the table. There were only maybe 6 left of the original 24, but come onnnnnn. These were supposed to be gone long before now and now they’re just sitting on the table in that cheery yellow box saying, “Haha, sucker, you can’t eat us.” I had what has now become my standard dessert of a bowl of applesauce and two peanut butter Oreos (Oreos are safe, which I’ll get to in a sec) and pouted and went on with my nighttime routine.
It’s now Sunday, and while the yellow box has made its way to the recycling bin, there are still four donuts in a ziploc bag on the counter, taunting me as I make pulled pork. If it had been the previous week, those donuts would have been gone by Friday because I have no shame.
I suppose I’m making this a little harder on myself by shunning dairy substitutes during this challenge, not only because they’re prohibitively expensive on my meager budget but also because they kinda freak me out. Fortunately, my derby twin is a baker who is also lactose intolerant, so she said she’s game for helping me come up with ideas for “safe” desserts beyond applesauce and Oreos.
In the meantime, someone better eat these damn donuts.