Pants and Pantry

You don't make a big life change and plan to fail. Yet there are things you do to hedge your bets. Right?

Like pants. My old pants are now too big. Toss them? Or squirrel them away? And if I save them, am I completely honest with myself as to why? I'll never gain the weight back. Right. Say it again.

Maybe I just want to save them to be used as props in the future. Like Jared, the Subway sandwich guy.

Then there's the pantry. Over Labor Day weekend we emptied out our pantry and completely reorganized it to my new way of cooking. Pasta off to a corner. Baking supplies out of the way. Oils, vinegars, seasonings front and center. Et cetera.

There are over a dozen cans and packages of food I have no intention now of eating. It is good food I need to give away, like Trader Joe's Chicken Chili (80 grams of carb per can). Frozen pasta. Stuff like that.

I haven't done it yet. The whole transaction is, I don't know... creepy.

"Um, I have a bag of food that I think will shorten your life and which I've forsworn for the next decade. Would you be willing to take the insulin bullet for me?"

And what kind of answer should I be looking for, anyway? "Mmmmmm, Doritos! Thanks!"

Maybe, just maybe, at the deepest root of such transactions, both sides think the other side is an idiot. Just like in real estate.


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