The Break-up: A Longterm Relationship Redefined

Back when everything was cool. . . .

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I had a lovely lunch with myself on Tuesday. I finished up early at Grady that morning, and had the chance to sneak over to Rosebud for a delicious turkey burger with some kind of zippy chutney on top. It should have been super-psycho-yummy but. . .something was missing. And despite how yummy that turkey burger usually is, this day it just wasn't the same.

::Sigh::

The truth? Nothing is as good as it used to be ever since the break-up. Not even the turkey burger from Rosebud. Yep. You read that right--I said break-up. I'm in the middle of a horrible break-up.

We tried to make it work, we really did. But every time I thought we could co-exist, I'd look up and find myself betrayed. Early on, there were no holds barred. I never felt guilty about our relationship, despite what others were doing and saying. So comforting. . . .so warm and inviting. And no matter where I was. . . .Surprise! There you were -- always popping up. . .on the side, in the middle, and even late at night. We'd even fall asleep together, and first thing in the morning, you were the first thing on my mind. I loved our time over coffee in the mornings. . . Sigh. This isn't going to be easy for me.

And after all these years, too. It's crazy to even imagine it. . . . but I knew we couldn't keep going like this when I turned 35. That was the first time you left me wondering if this love was really a mutually good thing. Aaaahh. . . .but you were so wonderful to me during my pregnancies. . . .so dependable. . . early in the morning, in the middle of the night, and even when I was in labor. In fact, you were one of my best memories during my labor with Isaiah. And I feel bad turning my back on you, but like I said. . . .now that I'm older, I just can't do it. I made every effort to stay close to you in my late thirties, but by the time I turned 38--that's when you really started showing your true colors. At 39 and a half, I stood in the mirror staring at my reflection asking myself,

"Why do you keep doing this to yourself? Just leave this abusive relationship alone already."

Now, there's no question. It's a wrap. We will never ever be the same, and I have finally come to accept it. I'm not stupid. I realize that I will have to see you sometimes and deal with you in moderation. And you know what? I'm actually okay with that. In fact, that's my preference. But this all the time, every day thing? No way.

Not even two months since our break up, and I can see the difference already. I feel better when I look at myself. Oh, and remember the way my energy was so sapped at first? Even that's gotten a lot better. The headaches and drained feeling I had in the beginning have faded, too. Now I know for sure that I can live my life just fine with our love redefined. I will just deal with you in small bits and pieces.

And I'm okay with it. I really am.

Just because you look good, doesn't mean I still want you.

Yes. It's official. I have officially broken up with bread.

Buns? Rolls? Bagels? I'm talking to you. Don't call me. Don't ask to sit on my table with garlic butter or act like you just want to sit by my omelet masquerading as a biscuit. Mmm hmm. Don't act all inconspicuous in my salad thinking I don't realize it's you just because you're cut up in little squares. Oh, your name is "crouton" now? Yeah right. By any name, the verdict is the same.

Don't believe me? Last week when that lady in Panera Bread asked me if I wanted "a whole grain or French baguette" with my salad I just put my hands on my hips and said, "How 'bout neither?" Take that, you complex little carbohydrate. Like I told you before, it's a wrap. (And a lower carb one at that.)

Yes. I have broken up with bread. And Lawd have mercy, on Tuesday I nearly fainted from the temptation to get back together when they brought that turkey burger out to me on top of that soft-and-doughy/crusty-but-chewy/warm-and-toasty/freshly baked ciabatta. That server was smiling at me all goofy-like when she said, "Mmmm! And the bun is fresh from the oven!" OMG. The minute that aroma wafted into my nostrils. . . .gaaaaahh! It was screaming, "Oh come on! It's only lunch, baby! Must it be so final?"

And I admit, y'all. . . . I was weak. I was overcome with passion. . . and allowed our lips to touch. (That's how I knew it was crusty-but-chewy.)

Chal-laaaaahhhhh!!!!!

Why the break-up? Because the relationship is just too much for me. Oh my. . . . our relationship over the years has been so intense. . . . .a little too intense even. . . .

My feelings in a breadbowl:

I like a lotta ciabatta.
Challah makes me holla.
Yeast makes me a beast.
And if you say "focaccia," I say, "fo' sho!"

See? That's the problem. That day I couldn't comfortably wear a pair of jeans that I'd paid $100+ for, I knew then that it was time to walk away. That ciabatta roll at Rosebud, though? I almost completely fell off the wagon.

Aaaaahh, but don't worry. When I was 39 and a half, I might have gotten weak and gave bread back the key and the garage code--but not at 40. This time, I mean it. We're dunzo. I simply can't afford the ten pounds you guarantee you'll give me every ten years no matter how much you look at me with those crusty eyes of yours.

Can't we just give it one more try?

Nope. I am a doctor, so I have tried the American Heart Association's recommended diet and even though I don't have high blood pressure, I've even tried the DASH diet, thank you very much. But seriously. . . .unless you are training for a 10k or a marathon and running, like, really, really, really far every single day, when it comes to the AHA and DASH diets, as one of my patients once told me, "That dog don't hunt." Oh and that food pyramid with all the bread on the bottom? Puleaze. Unless being the shape of a pyramid is what you're going for, I hope you have a plan b.

Uhhhh, okay.

So to all of my beloved patients, friends, and family who are over 35 and who don't run like really, really, really far every single day AND to those under 35 who are perplexed at why the junk just perpetually remains in their trunk: I'm talking to you. Consider my break-up as an intervention. You want to be a little smaller? Then accept it. The days of liberal bread and refined sugar consumption are over. (Unless, of course, you are like my friends Julie J-M and Julie E. who actually DO run like really, really, really far every single day. . . . )

And still I rise. . . .

I will need your support through this break up. . . . . . . but with your help, I know I can achieve a new "normal." Occasional weekends, holidays, and special occasions. That's it.

::sniffle::

Thanks for your support.

Wait--I just know you didn't think I was talking about the B.H.E.? (B.H.E. = best husband ever)
(Don't worry, I didn't THINK you did 'cause he's wonderful.)