Life dips
I never thought this day would come, but all good things come to an end. People change. Circumstances change. Bodies change. Love waxes and wanes. The relationship ran its course.
It’s over, for good. It’s for the best. When we pass each other in our local grocery store or convenience shops, I have to stop myself from reaching out, a muscle memory I struggle to resist. Awkward avoidance. Lingering looks. Familiar longing. A yearning that can’t be ignored, yet must be denied.
Does anybody else notice? Probably. You know how it is in a small town. People talk. It will shock you to learn of this break-up if you’ve read this column for any length of time, but I think you’ll understand. There were signs. There always are.
At first it was obsessive love, like an unquenchable hunger that delighted all the senses. Passionate and fierce in the good times, loyal and comforting in the hard times. Whatever life threw at us, we got through it together. This love was my drug of choice. Dairy-intolerance be damned.
Yet, as the years progressed, it became more of a controlling addiction than affection. It was a need more than a want, a craving that no longer soothed the angst or provided pleasure.
Sodium is seriously seductive, but ultimately, bloat-inducing. Heartburn becomes heartbreak. And towards the end, it generated wicked nightmares, as if my mind was tripping out to warn me of my inevitable fate.
It ends here. Today. Right now. I’m serious. I’ve put the lid on my love for chip dip and, henceforth, will leave it on the refrigerator store shelf, where it is free to love and be loved by another. (Gasp. I know, right? How could chip dip love anyone the way it loved me? It can’t. It never will. There’s no replacing me. As if, snort).
The reduced-sodium rippled potato chips will stay on their shelf too, puffed out with more air than product, and I will walk by like we are strangers. Look ahead. Resist temptation. Move on.
During what was a long winter, I confess, I reached for my chips and dip too often, seeking comfort. I was losing control of my healthy coping mechanisms (pretend I have them). Instead, I leaned on the crutch of artificial sodium highs and dairy crashes. Don’t even get me started on what it did to my body. Too obvious. Also, I’m currently in withdrawal which makes me mean, so watch yourself.
I suspect it will be a long time before the craving ends. On movie nights or during the big game, I know that I will instinctively reach for the phantom chip bowl and swipe gently into the non-existent tub of creamy herbed dip. Muscle memory is funny like that.
You may see me in the grocery store with other flavoured potato chips in my cart, but it won’t be the same. It’s just dating. Non-committal. Most of them will be for my housemates. I know my weakness. I must be strong. Best for you to just look away (I’m serious about the withdrawal making me mean).
I’m thinking of writing a volume of sad poems about the end of this love affair. It would be cathartic. I’m thinking of calling it “Life dips and love bloats.”
It’s a working title. Stay tuned.