I Give Up

I guess I should have said, "I'm giving them up."

As in my beloved sourdough hard pretzels. For Lent. (Sob!)

Day one is almost done and the signs of withdrawal are everywhere. While I don't have tremors, I did eat four, count'em FOUR pieces of fried cod tonight in search of that crunch. It's going to be a long six weeks. 

Why the pretzels? The only other options I could come up with were chocolate or Cherry Coke Zero. And, let's be honest, there was no way either one of those was going to happen. 

So, to prepare last night, I opened a shiny, new bag. Then I ate three pretzels ... which is two too many right before bed. Then I carefully folded over the top of the bag, put a chip clip on and said a small eulogy-like silent prayer. Then I wept a little. 

OK, I'm exaggerating a little there. But I was kind of sad. 

I am not, however, exaggerating my addiction. It's real.   

In fact, my husband and I actually refer to my pretzels as "crack," which makes for some interesting conversations in the grocery store. I always worry what innocent bystanders might think when they hear this: 

Jim: "Did you remember to pick up your crack?"

Lisa: "Of course! I actually got an extra bag." 

So, if you happen to also be a fan, please have an extra one for me. Just don't rub it in. 

(Interesting backstory: I have always loved the idea of giving something up for Lent just to see if I could do it. For years, I would give up fast food and/or chocolate for Lent. I always hoped it would magically work like a "pre-test" of sorts to see if I could actually try to diet ... that maybe with God on my side I could find a way to do it. It never worked. Come Easter Sunday, all bets were off and I'd accidentally swing by Shopko or Target to cruise the half-price leftover candy aisle, perhaps hitting a McDonald's on the way. I think even God knew I had to stop looking for a magic bullet.)