10.

AT LEAST I DIDN’T EAT A DONUT

Morning. 10:00 a.m.: Walk to the kitchen and open the refrigerator, where I keep my bag of organic raw almonds. Carefully count out fifteen almonds and place them in a little treat cup to carry back to my desk for the good-for-me snack that will keep me focused and productive for two more hours until lunchtime.

10:01: Toss all fifteen almonds in my mouth and eat them before the refrigerator door closes. My feet never even move.

10:01:30: Hate myself.

10:01:35: Forgive myself. The recommendation is for “a handful of almonds per day,” and I have smallish hands, so I probably should have had twenty almonds, not fifteen. I help myself to five more.

10:01:45: Pause to consider the possible meanings of “handful.” A small pile in the middle of a small hand? A medium pile in the middle of a small hand? A large pile in the middle of a medium hand? Might my hand be medium, not small? I eat ten more almonds to make sure I’m nutritionally complete.

10:03: Hate myself.

10:03:15: Scrutinize the Nutrition Facts panel. The label says Serving size 33g. It’s a 16-ounce bag. 13.7 servings per container. I throw six more almonds in my mouth to compensate for the aggravation of having to read numbers that make no sense.

10:03:45: Pour the rest of the bag on the counter and divide the remaining almonds into 12.7 small piles, since there are supposed to be 13.7 servings per bag and I probably already ate one serving this morning. I subtract the number of almonds I might have eaten in the previous days I’ve owned the bag, and eat any almonds which could affect the math:

Broken almonds must be eaten because they don’t count as full almonds.

Over- and undersize ones must be eaten because they throw off calculations.

Oddly shaped ones must be eaten so they don’t feel rejected.

10:04:30: Nine perfectly matched almonds remain. Nine is nowhere near anyone’s version of a serving size, but seems appropriate for a much-deserved celebratory snack for all my effort. I scoop the nine almonds into my treat cup. Quickly seal the top of the cup with plastic wrap to prevent the almonds from accidentally spilling into my mouth on the long five-second walk back to my desk.

10:05: Never mind.

10:06: Sit at my desk. Glare at my empty treat cup. Check my stats on my Fitbit app: I’ve walked thirty-seven steps. Eaten approximately 1,100 calories. Burned seven calories. One hour, fifty-four minutes until lunch.

At least I didn’t eat a donut.