I have a confession to make.
I committed Jennycide this weekend. For those of you who are not familiar with this term, Jennycide is the deliberate and complete disregard for your Jenny Craig diet.
Yes, guilty as charged.
The trouble actually started a week ago over Mother’s Day weekend. My parents came to town and in an effort to entertain and impress them, I took them to all my favorite restaurants. Of course, when you go to your favorite restaurants, you have to order your favorite foods… none of which, clearly, are on the Jenny Craig plan.
Realizing the error of my ways, I immediately jumped back on the Jenny wagon Monday and spent the rest of the week working out and paying for my barbequed ribs, pesto and goat cheese pizza, and fried parmesean encrusted zucchini strip sins.
Then came the next weekend. This time I promised Jenny that I would not be a party to the pig out. Even though I was in charge of desserts for the second weekend of Mother’s Day celebrations we had scheduled, I was determined to stand strong against the call of the chocolate.
It’s not like I didn’t have a constant reminder that bathing suit season is just around the corner. If I happened not to notice the barrage of commercials and ads counting down the days to being bikini ready, I still had my daughter to remind me that I was doing great but I still had some work to do.
“How does this bathing suit look?” I asked her as I modeled one of my suits that had the maximum amount of coverage.
She was watching tv and reluctantly glanced over at me.
“You have extra butt hanging out the back.”
If that’s not good incentive to stick to your diet, I don’t know what is.
So anyway, there I was perusing the bakery for desserts that would have no appeal for me, although, I have yet to find a dessert that has no appeal for me, when suddenly, my eyes came to rest on something very swirly, very chocolately and very yummy looking.
“What’s that?” I asked the lady behind the counter.
“This?” she asked, pointing to the chocolately thing. “This is a Triple Chocolate Mousse Bomb.”
I was mesmerized. I have to admit; she had me at “Bomb.”
“I’ll take six,” I said without hesitation.
When I got them home, I noticed that one of the bombs had detonated in the car on the way home.
It was far too ugly to serve, so I did what any rationale person would do.
I ate it.
Then I refrigerated the rest of the bombs.
The next day I went to arrange the five remaining desserts on a nicer plate and I noticed that another bomb had fallen over and was smushed beyond recognition. Not wanting my dessert-bringing reputation to be compromised, I removed the smushed bomb from the box, and …
I ate it.
When we finally got to my sister-in-laws and the time came to put out dessert, I removed the chocolate bombs and saw that a number of them had dropped a load of chocolate pieces on the plate. I picked them up to neaten up the display, and then…
I ate them.
Finally, as dessert was being served, my sister-in-law offered me one of the chocolate mousse bombs.
“Oh, no thanks,” I said demurely. “None for me. I’m on Jenny Craig!”