The Real Effect of Eating Carbs: The Story That Started My Blog

This is the story that started my blog.

What you are about to read is not based on a true story, it IS a true story. I can only hope that someday the footage will be unearthed because trust me that would be really [censored] funny.

When I posted this recap of my day on Facebook a year and a half ago, everyone said I should be writing. So I thought to myself, okay, maybe I’ll start a blog. And the rest is history. If you enjoy this story, please share it! Better yet, SUBSCRIBE to my blog so you can continue reading stories just like this. Because you know you want to.

 

I’m a mom. Which means that any chance that I have to eat alone, fully dressed, and without a tiny dictator that I created telling me exactly how to make something he isn’t going to eat anyway, I take it. So if that means I have to eat alone in public, sign me up. No shame in my game.

I had a gift card for the local bakery so I went there for lunch, because who doesn’t love free? Despite my better judgement, I ordered all the bread. I basically had bread on bread with a side of bread. But I enjoyed my leisurely, quiet, low-toddler, high-carb lunch. No drama. Belly full. Back to work I go.

As I’m walking to my car though, I realize that I can’t find my obnoxiously gigantic car key. The key that I removed from my ring a week ago and never put back on despite my inner smart-ass that kept telling me I was going to lose it. You know, the same voice I ignore when it tells me to lay off carbs.

But I also have an obnoxiously gigantic purse so there was no reason to panic just yet. Ask my husband, losing my keys is kinda my trademark.

So I dig thru my disaster of a purse 3 times and I still I can’t find it. Pockets are empty.

I go back inside and make my rounds, asking each employee if anyone has turned in a key. Nope.

I ask the manager who clearly doesn’t give a [censored] about my problems. Nothing.

I look through my purse again. I’m starting to get a little nervous at this point.

I locate the table I was sitting at and ask the lady now occupying it if she will stop eating and get up so I can crawl underneath her table. Nothing but crumbs and fear now.

I GO THROUGH THE TRASH. (Keep in mind it’s the lunch hour. And flu season. This is very risky). I’m starting to sweat.

I ask annoyed employees again. They still hate me and they still have no key.

I walk back out to my car.

I ask God for mercy while staring up at the heavens (in the rain. Because of course, it’s raining now). “I swear I’ll think about going to church if you just help me find my key!” I beg as I look through my purse for the 16th time, squatting on the wet pavement next to my car. Still nothing. Now I’m definitely not going to think about going to church, thanks a lot.

I search pockets again. I check pockets for holes. Heart pounding.

I go back inside and sit down at an empty table to take every single thing out of my purse like I’m moving in. Nothing.

Just as I’m about to cry, I decide to feel around the lining of my coat to see if it magically slipped through a nonexistent hole in my pocket and… there it is. Giant key FOB floating around in the bottom of my jacket between the linings.

But I still can’t find the hole.

THERE’S NO HOLE.

My pockets are perfect.

They’re mocking me.

I check the time. I’m supposed to be back at work in 5 minutes and the key to my car is INSIDE my coat, like the immaculate conception.

Time is running out.

Panic is setting in.

People already think I’m a psychotic weirdo because they watched me dig through the trash and crawl under a table before taking everything out of my purse and putting it right back in, while sweating.

I cannot get the key out!

So what can I do?

The only thing left:

I summon my inner Hulk strength and RIPPPP a hole in my coat before reaching in to tear the key out like some sort of emergency jacket C-section.

And then I yell “YESSSSS!” like I just won the lottery and run out of the cafe with neither my coat nor my dignity intact.

Somehow, I made it back to work on time but I was not the same person I was before I left that windowless office.

I was changed. And it wasn’t just the gaping hole in my jacket. I was fierce, like a Lion. I learned some real life lessons that day. 

I discovered that when I’m backed into a corner until I’m sweating with nervous desperation and have no other options, I’m pretty much a no-limits bad ass.

Also, there really is no such thing as a free lunch. And I’m still never going to order the salad.

 

 

Lindsay is a 30 year old working wife, mom, and liar because she’s really 34. She has like 7 jobs and hopes to write a book one day. Because this [censored] is funny. Seriously, try not to laugh.