Dear Diet Pop,
We’ve been friends since I was sixteen. You provided the sweet, fizzy taste that I craved with promises of no sugar and no weight gain from extra calories.
You were a faithful friend during movies at the theater, late nights of studying, and so. many. long. days with babies. You were the motivation for many a walk with my little ones, even though getting out of the house would have been motivation enough.
Still, there you were at the other end of the trip, a prize for getting everybody’s shoes and jackets and strollers and Cheerios and countless other toddler paraphernalia out the door.
Times and people change. It’s not you; it’s me. Well, maybe it’s you. A recent study blamed you for increased risk of stroke and heart vessel blockage. I know, I know: correlation doesn’t mean causation. These things are not necessarily linked.
I know I feel different without you. My mind is a little sharper. I’m less puffy because I rapidly drop water weight and don’t bloat as much. I crave food less without you and healthy food tastes better when you’re not around.
And for all your zero calorie promises, you turn me into that kid’s book moose with his muffin: if I have you, I need a treat; if I have a treat, I need you.
It’s going too far to call this a toxic relationship, but you do seem to be the linchpin to my food issues.
Don’t cry. This isn’t goodbye forever. I can’t imagine a corner booth at Damgoode Pies without you, nor my Thursday Morning Mama Meetings. You were just made for certain places.
Bu you can’t come in my house anymore. You just don’t belong there because I can’t seem to show restraint when you’re around.
Shh. Don’t say anything. We’ll always have Chick-fil-A. We’ll always have Panera. And we’ll always have donut shops until millenials kill diet pop and donut shops for good. But that’s a different story for a different day.
Until we meet again (which I guess will be Thursday), I remain your fair-weather friend and restaurant booty-caller,