The Break-Up Diet

Whoever said that Rice Krispies Treats are not an acceptable breakfast never went through a horrible break-up.

If it has marshmallows in it, I'll eat it. If it's cream-filled, sugar-coated, or cinnamon-dusted, sign me up. If you can cover it with chocolate, dip it in caramel, or serve it with a dollop of whipped cream, just slide the plate right over.

If you couldn't tell, I'm using calories as a pain killer.

No, it won't always be this way. I don't hate my arteries enough to keep up this extravagant lifestyle. Also, if I'm going to be on a reality show, it had better be The Bachelorette and not The Biggest Loser. But for now, for this week, for this level of heartache there's only one remedy that's proven to work time and time again: ice cream.

I couldn't bring myself to eat anything for the first two days. When my mother finally threatened to force feed me, I made her take me to Friendly's. She offered Italian restaurants, seafood feasts at a table on the water, Greek delicacies. But no. I wanted five scoops of cookie dough ice cream flanked by two molten hot Oreo brownies, surrounded by little soldier mounds of whipped topping and drizzled with caramel, hot fudge, and melted marshmallow.

Ever the documentarian, I took a picture and posted it to Facebook. The first comment I got was "You're at Friendly's. I ate that during my last break-up. Munch on, sister!"

And then my personal trainer called.

I love my trainer. I really do. I have not set one foot inside the doors of the gym all year but she calls / texts / emails me every so often just to check in. She spent all of last year kicking my ass when I needed it most and we became genuine friends. But I couldn't bring myself to talk to anyone in those first few days, and the last person I wanted to hear from was a woman who would tell me to put down the spoon and step away from the fat grams.

I'm in pain. The fat grams are my friends.

My mother was ever so supportive of my attempt to dull the hurt with preservatives and artificial flavoring. She was sporting enough to take a few bird-like bites but backed away when she saw with what vengeance I attacked the dessert (slash breakfast). She knew, like all of you know, that this pain won't last forever. It will get easier over time and my heart will heal eventually. But in the meantime I am on a strict break-up diet: Cupcakes, Cosmo's and Crying. *Not necessarily in that order!*