I swore up and down I wouldn’t touch these two subjects with a ten foot pole, but I’ve reached the tipping-point where I feel the need to discuss. I know what you are thinking: this Lady Sensory chick is completely off her rocker. She’s gone cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs. She’s cray-cray. While that might be so, I’d like to provide my very deep and analytical thoughts about two topics that are very near and dear to my heart. Okay, maybe not so deep or analytical and probably not so dear to my heart, either. How about near and dear to my kneecap or Achilles tendon? No? That doesn’t grab you either? Well, phooey.
About 6 months ago, I was in need of some butter from the dairy section and wondered why the heck I couldn’t get my cart to budge through the aisle at Wegmans. Oh. That’s because about 15-17 people were blocking traffic in front of the Greek yogurt section, staring at the packages in a befuddled manner. And no, it wasn’t even on sale. I’ve never been a big yogurt aficionado but I had occasionally dabbled in some vanilla Activia to get the digestion back on track. In my younger years, I enjoyed the Dannon Fruit on the Bottom yogurt topped with gobs of granola crunchies. And while I liked it that way (which is not the healthiest rendition), I never loved yogurt quite as much as this woman. That’s some serious passion for yogurt right there. Really, people? It’s just yogurt. I’d never seen anything like it and wondered what the fuss was all about. I cleared my throat and muttered a few, “Excuse mes” to move the people along so I could get my sticks of sweet creamy fat for my tart crusts and baked goods.
Later on, while rolling out buttery crusts, I lamented about my thighs turning to mush and contemplated this Greek yogurt fascination. I started surfing the internet and reading about how people were ‘dropping the lbs’ from this higher-protein, lower-sugar fad. I wondered if it would be as tasty as the fruit salad doused in honey, nuts and Greek yogurt that I order every once in a while at Aladdin’s (a local Mediterranean eatery). Could this wonderous dairy miracle help shrink my thighs in a matter of days or would I have to suck it up like a Royal and actually do the Dukan Diet? After reading the Dukan-approved food list, I decided yogurt would be the easier option. I returned to the store a few days later and bought one vanilla-flavored and two plain Chobanis. I started with plain. I opened it up, tossed in some fruit, walnuts, and a smidge of honey. I took a bite and promptly spit it out. It was like eating a mouthful of sour cream, but minus the all the delicious sour-creamy goodness. Seriously, people were crowded around this crap in the store? It was the equivalent of munching on a sour sawdust pudding. Did I give up? Heck no! I really wanted to find my Greek yogurt soul mate. I returned to the store a week or two later and stood in front of the yogurt section, inspecting all the flavors, the caloric intake, and grams of carbohydrates that come from sugar while blocking cart traffic in the aisle. That’s right. I became one of those people.
Let’s pause this yogurt talk for one minute and chat for a bit about everyone’s favorite hot-mess of a show, The Bachelor. Every season I swear to myself that I’m not going to get sucked in and without fail, I wind up turning it on. I then sit, mesmerized, at the sheer madness taking place on my TV. Every Monday, my Facebook notifications explode with friends requesting my commentary on someone’s crackpot behavior or bad hair. If you are unfamiliar with the show, 25 people come on national television to fight over one schleppy guy (or gal if it’s The Bachelorette), hoping for the rose that will string them along to the subsequent episode, up until the final episode where the Bachelor or Bachelorette picks a potential spouse. After ten years and umpteen seasons, the show has only resulted in one successful relationship leading to marriage (I don’t really count that Jason dude who picked one girl, dumped her on the after-show, then ran off and married the runner-up). Throughout the course of the season, the viewers enjoy contestants engaging in lots of backstabbing, catty chit-chat followed by self-psychobabble at the camera where they say gems like, “I’m not here to make friends,” and “I think I’m really falling in love with him and I’m having such a hard time because he’s dating five of my roommates.” Viewers also witness tearful departures where similar words are exchanged, sometimes peppered with hyperventilation. These small moments where people act crazier than sh*thouse rats are my treasures – my itsy-bitsy crumbs of comedy gold amid all the contrived sappy-mush.
So what do these two items have to do with each other? Well, quite a lot, actually. Let’s think about it. I’ve been dating GY (Greek yogurt) now for about the last six months and have tried almost every flavor (yeah, I gave up on that nasty plain stuff, but would welcome dip suggestions where plain GY could replace sour cream). Much like The Bachelor, I’ve been given plenty of what I’d call ‘suitable’ GY options. I have managed to ‘make it work’ with Greek yogurt, basically by finding what are essentially sugar-laden ‘fruit on the bottom’ versions and topping them with Grape-Nuts as opposed to granola. I have settled on a few flavors I like enough to keep GY in the breakfast rotation, BUT I AM NOT IN LOVE WITH GREEK YOGURT. That’s right. I said it. I’ve been shoving my face with the stuff for months and it leaves me cold. It’s also done nothing for my thighs, but to be fair, that’s more likely due to copious amounts of wine, dining out, and sitting on my arse writing ditties for you. Much like The Bachelor and his ladies-in-waiting, I have settled for something less than I want in a breakfast simply because the online nutrition gurus tell me it’s good for me. I’m supposed to love GY. I’ve put in the time and have to stick with it. I could just stop buying it, but that would be like giving up. I can’t do that – we’ve built a life together – a commitment made of fruit, protein and calcium. And let’s not forget those live and active cultures!
Look, like the Wegmans customers in the dairy aisle (myself included), the Bachelor and his ladies get swept away by all the hype – the exotic locations, fantasy suites, roses, rings, and false hope of finding that one special person. They have their breakfast, only to feel empty again by 11:00 AM the same day. They believe in the hype, their judgement gets clouded, and eventually realize they settled for less than what they wanted, but not before they have embarrassed themselves on national television.
Am I wrong? Tune in on Monday night for an episode that Chris Harrison will undoubtedly dub, “The most dramatic rose ceremony in Bachelor history.” He does that every other week, and I’m sure he’s paid well to do so. Then fix yourself a vanilla GY with some bananas and Grape Nuts, pretend you are having the tastiest banana cream pie dessert ever, and try to guess who is a bigger victim of the hype: a character on The Bachelor or you?