Although excited and optimistic about moving in to the luxurious apartment-style student housing of glorious Hadley Village, I did have some fears: My two stunning friends and I would have a fourth roommate we had never met, we had to decide who would bring what kitchen- and living-room accessories and none of us had ever been forced to endure one other's boyfriends for extended periods of time. In the end, these initial fears proved unnecessary.
We should have been worried about GETTING FAT!!!
Ever since we moved into Hadley, we have all been partaking in culinary pleasure at an unprecedented rate of gluttony. Gone are the days of forcing dining hall gruel down our throats just to survive, for we now have our own massive refrigerator, microwave, stove, oven and broiler. Every night has become a food and drink orgy that would have horrified Caligula himself, and it is only by divine intervention that my fellow living companions and I are able to get through doors, let alone fit into our delightfully suggestive club-hopping attire.
Or maybe I'm just fooling myself. Maybe I have reversed-anorexia - no matter how much weight I gain, I always think I look pretty skinny.
I spent $144. 23 at Wegmans last week and I even have my very own Shopper's Club card! Alexis, Jess and I browsed the supermarket, bemused by high-grade meats, cold cuts and seafood; sugary-sweet cereals we were deprived in our youth; exotic, fresh produce; distinctly-flavorful cheeses and breads; organic milk and eggs; hypnotic sauces and marinades; cupboard staples of microwave-able cupped soups and noodles; and decadent cakes and pies. Oh and don't forget the ultimate pocket-breaking delicacy, fresh sushi!
When we returned, our first-floor neighbor saw us lugging approximately 40 packed grocery bags and said: "Damn, that's a lot of food. You don't look like you eat the much!"
Sweet, spicy, sour and ethnic aromas fill our abode each evening as we sit and binge away, while watching "Law and Order," "Blind Date," "The Simpsons" or "Love Cruise." We pick off each other's plates; we plan tomorrow's meal. In the time it takes me to cook up a meal and settle down to eat each evening, I could have finished all of my studying and homework for the entire fall semester. And we're not even good sports about it. ... The evening always ends around 1 a.m. with one or all of us saying the following phrases:
"Oh, I have so much work to do! Hmm ... I think I'll make banana bread."
"Anyone for mac-n-cheese?"
"I can't stop eating!"
Oh yes, we've all agreed on many occasions to slow down and start eating simply, maybe even to consider dieting. But it seems like the only Weight Watchers in our crib are our friends when they come over to visit and watch us scarf our faces! Come to think of it, I always thought we had so many male visitors because we were just that damn sexy and all these drooling boys were just dying to hang around three hot chicks. I've since realized that they visit us because the second organ that men are ruled by is their stomachs. Seldom has a man come to our house without getting a 10-course meal laid out before him.
My boyfriend is no help in ending this tirade of consumption. Far more domesticated than I, he has egged us on by making me orange-glazed duck for my birthday with garlic mashed potatoes and baking fresh chocolate chip cookies, marble cheesecake with chocolate-covered strawberries and fluffy chocolate layer cakes. He is like a street pusher tormenting a heroin addict struggling to recover, and my greatest fear of our relationship succeeding is that I will surely be transformed into a manatee!
But I think my exodus from bondage to my refrigerator will come to an end very soon, if not this very moment - I am officially broke! I have eaten away half my bank account and I'm far too embarrassed to confess this to my parents, who will probably think I spent everything on booze. (Well, the other half of the bank account went to booze and Walden Galleria.)
I stare hollow-eyed at packages of rice, beans and condensed soups lingering miserably in my cupboard and realize that my greatest sin is eating for pleasure rather than nourishment. Ethiopian children should take their turns hurling huge stones at me in the streets and I should probably go to take a spiked leather whip and lash myself until I realize the err of my ways and decide to take a pilgrimage to Tibet and live cold, chaste and fasting for years and years.
Sigh. All this writing is making me hungry.