Confession Time

Not like ‘this is a guilty pleasure I’m admitting to’ confession. We’re talking full on ‘I was born a lapsed Catholic’ confession. Anyone who’s been through the Catholic ringer knows that even when you don’t know what (if any) form of religion or higher power you believe in anymore, there’s ritualistic aspects of the Catholic Church that never leave you. For many of us, Lent is one of those.
Every year for the past, erm, decade-ish I have succumbed to that residual guilt which accompanies the period known as Lent and have sacrificed my deep love of fried foods for forty days. Some years it goes well. Others it does not. Still, I keep the tradition going because regardless of any religious reasons, or even residual guilt that only exists as a childhood remnant of having said guilt ingrained in me like an emotional tattoo, giving up fatty, deep fried food for six weeks isn’t exactly bad for my body. Some swanky health nuts cut it out all together, and I applaud them. I am no such paragon of healthy eats and will likely never be, so for this brief period, though around week three I typically turn into a raging bitch due to French fry withdrawal, I will endeavor to be a little more virtuous in terms of what I put into my body, even if I only do it out of misplaced residual guilt. Any reason to get healthy without harming yourself is a good idea in my book…