The other day I tweeted that I’d renounced eating sugary carbs for the rest of the summer.
I didn’t lie intentionally.
I tweeted that statement in good faith.
Good faith which exited the building the minute the waiter placed this plate of churros in front of us.
This leads me to conclude that my mom is evil.
She’s intent on sabotaging any shred of will power I have left.
“It’s ridiculous to swear off carbs while you’re in Spain. Stop being silly and set another goal,” she says.
Substitution has been one of my mother’s strategies for as long as I can remember.
I say, “I need to consume less sodium in my diet,” and she counters with “Salt is necessary. Chew some Gas X tablets and you won’t feel bloated.”
“We have to stop drinking Coke. It’s bad for us.”
“So is harsh sunlight, but I don’t see us moving into a cave any time soon.”
Yes, she’s a born saboteur.
That’s why I eyed her suspiciously when she ordered the churros.
“What? They’re not for you.”
The minute the hot, fried golden sticks made their way to our table, I was a goner.
And this saddens me.
It makes me doubt my resolve; my will to resist temptation.
“Mom, I’m not eating churros. I already told you that.”
“You’re not eating churros, no matter what the circumstances?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, if Javier Bardem were dressed in nothing but an apron and volunteered to finger feed those to you, you’d say no?”
My hesitation is all she needs to continue.
“In other words, Javier can feed you churros, but your mother can’t.”
“You’re not a sexy Spanish actor with bedroom eyes.”
“And Javier didn’t carry you in his belly for nine months, spend 23 hours in labor, and suffer through an episiotomy.”
Another one of my mother’s favorite strategies.
And today it works.
Besides, I can almost hear the churros whispering, “Bella…”
So I take a bite, promising myself that today’s the last day I’ll consume sugary carbs.
I can always swim ten extra laps.