Post Image I have been blessed with some great relationships. Of course, I had to work, sweat and sacrifice for them, but they are worth it. Why should I expect my realtionship with food to be any different?

At the top of my list of reasons why food and I have been so disfunctional is the entire concept of "All Or Nothing" and the self-loathing that goes along with the inevitable failure. The rest of said list is filled with misconceptions and self-deceptions along the lines of: "Since frozen yogurt is better for me than ice cream, I should be able to eat a half gallon of it every day and still lose weight." and "I don't want to start I diet because I won't be able to eat any of the foods that I like."

So, I am armpit-deep in challenging every item on that list and having a wonderful time doing it.

However, I am often shocked over the gap that is widening between my food choices and those of my family. I find myself frequently having to resist the urge to gawk at the frivilous, oblivious sorts of things that once had me tipping the scales at 264 and straining the zippers of my size 24 jeans.

A few nights ago I was making breakfast tacos for dinner (see "Pound Wise and Flour Tortilla Foolish", if you are not sure what those are!). I carefully determined the whole-to-egg-white ratio for minimum PPs and maximum yum, and measured low-fat sharp cheddar, salsa and Baked Doritos (Yes, Doritos...and don't knock it till you try it!). Then I sweetly smiled at Honey and asked him to tend to the center-cut bacon.

I was preoccupied with whether I had put too much salsa in the mix for the scramble to congeal, so I didn't notice when Honey finished the bacon and wandered off to the pantry. I did notice, however, when he returned with four slices of Texas toast and plopped them in the pan with the hot bacon grease.

"What are you doing?!"
Honey looked at me like I had surely lost half of my IQ while he was fetching bread.

I realized my mistake immediately. I knew what he was thinking: "Just because you've turned into a food snob, doesn't mean you can make that choice for me." How many times had I experienced "Fatty Paranoia", thinking people were judging me for what was on my plate or in my shopping cart? Granted, sometimes I was imagining it, but sometimes I wasn't. Even when it came from well-meaning people who loved me, it didn't help; it didn't make me want to make a change in my lifestyle.

So, I said nothing more as Honey proceeded to allow that bread to soak up every drop of grease in the pan and consume them along with his 6-point tacos. I was truly horrified, but I was careful not to look down my nose while savoring my two tacos and, honestly, wondering what on earth those fat-soaked slabs tasted like.

Honey turned 38 last weekend. He's always been fit, but within the last couple years, the pounds have crept on. He is a builder, so he is active all day long and he understands during his afternoons, that his ability to work hard is directly related to what he puts in his body at lunch. If he eats what he packs (healthy sandwich, applesauce, a yogurt, pretzes and water) he can get a lot done and feel good. If he eats out, allows a customer to provide lunch or even has Subway, lethargy sets in and lunch occupies his stomach like a block of lead for hours. If he has soda or sweet tea, he might as well pack up and go home early. The afternoon is a loss.

Still, in the evenings and on weekends, that understanding goes out the window often enough to be having an impact on his waistline. Maybe someday he'll join me On Plan. He's toyed with the idea a time or two. In the meantime, he has his own "list" to cope with and he doesn't need me looking down my nose at him from my perch in Weight Watcher's bliss.