Pretzel Logic

What’s up with me and all the pretzels lately? I just can’t seem to get enough. Snyder’s hard pretzels, a longtime favorite (a “classic”, I suppose), Happy Herbert’s Penn Dutch (usually the “extra dark” [burnt] variety), Rold Gold or Snyder’s rods (why does that word make me snicker?) … and if New York had a decent soft pretzel, I’m sure I would have indulged in those, too. However, I am going to Philadelphia today, where soft pretzels reign absolutely supreme. But I vowed last night, after surveying my usually fabulously flat stomach and noting that it looked a tad bloated, to lay off the pretzels already.

I suppose I’ve been crazy with the pretzels because I gave up “sweets” sometime in February. I had been treating myself to far too many impossibly fudgy brownies, outrageously perfect chocolate chip cookies, and other sundry (fresh-)baked goods. And it wasn’t like I was savoring each morsel the way I know I should have. No, I was wolfing them down the way my dog does with his biscuits. Three bites, a snort, a snuffle, some drool, and my ears would perk up as I turned my head around looking for more.

I suppose this is just supplanting one “addiction” with another, the way alcoholics frequently turn to coffee after turning away from the harder stuff. And I suppose it could be worse. I could have substituted heroin for the baked goods, or maybe taken up meat again.

In other compulsive news: I thank “god” that I didn’t have any money in my wallet this morning on my way home from the gym. I almost bought In Style for the train ride down to Philadelphia, a magazine that, every time I buy it, makes me believe that I will actually implode if I don’t have the latest trendy whatever. Had I had money, I know I would be coming home from Philadelphia with a braided leather sash/belt, a puffy white peasant blouse more hideous than Jerry Seinfeld’s, and some sort of wedgy sandals. And why waste all that money on trendy garbage when it’d be better spent on the classics, such as Snyder’s hard pretzels?