a tuna melt

I was diagnosed with diabetes in the summer of 2003. I don't think I have bought a loaf of bread since then. My metabolic system just can't handle the unnecessary carbohydrates in bread. Oh, sure, I have eaten bread since then, in restaurants or in a friend's home for a meal but buying an entire loaf of bread, given that I live alone, well, it was like making a plan to binge. My nutritionist advises me to limit my carbs to between 90 and 110 daily. I'd have to blow most of my carbs on a sandwich. Most of the time, I'll pass on bread.

Last Wednesday, while in the city for a weekly commitment, I was early. I am almost always early for everything. So I went strolling. And I read menus posted on restaurants. I almost never eat out in restaurants. I am disciplined about spending money and I can eat cheaper at home. And I am disciplined about what I eat; it is easier to eat healthy at home. I like to eat out, of course. I have read all the menus posted along Castro street, the main drag, of Mountain View. A small, stupid thing I do. So last Wednesday, I'm killing time, reading menus and other signs on storefronts when I read about a tuna melt.

I have not thought about tuna melts in years, certainly not since I gave up buying bread.

I wanted a tuna melt last Wednesday. Oh my gosh, how I wanted it.

But, as I have mentioned, I am a disciplined eater. I had already eaten all that I was going to eat last Wednesday. My inner voice, who was in a bratty mood, was petulant, whining as she demanded a tuna melt. I gave in to her quite like I used to give in to my dolly girl Katie. I promised her I would think about it, take it under advisement. Note: whenever Katie asked for things, especially when she had a bad case of the gimmees, I would say "I'll keep it in mind, I'll take that under advisement". This seemed to signal to her, when she was basking in greed, that I was going to give it to her and it would tend to shut her up. As she got older and wiser, she understood that I was blowing her off politely, that when I said "I'll think about it" I was mostly thinking "sure, honey, on a cold day in hell, I'll buy you that Barbie doll".

My inner voice is not as gullible as my little girl once was so when I tried to hush my longing for that tuna melt up, my inner voice grew more strident. She, me, really wanted a tuna melt.

The aforementioned tuna melt floated through me all week. When Wednesday came round again, as it did yesterday, as it does every week, I decided, in the morning, as I planned my food for the day, that I would have a tuna melt in that restaurant for dinner before my meeting.

And I did. Tuna melts. How can you go wrong? Tuna, mayo, cheese. All warmed up and gooey. It was delicious. A homemade one would have been better. A better tuna, a finer cheese, butter for the grill, better bread. But still, it was yummy. It was perfection. I savored every bite. And you know what? I am sated. I don't want another one. It's like that tuna melt is still satisfying me.