Dear Carbs: Why I Will Always Hate That I Love You

by Ashley Fern

Dear Carbs,

Why do you taste so good, but make me feel so bad? Sure, I enjoyed the 30 seconds I spent consuming the free bread basket at dinner, but the moment of bliss is quickly dampened by the next three hours I inevitably spend regretting our encounter.

I love you, I really do. I especially love you when I'm blacked out at 3 am and all I had during the day was salad and rabbit food. But once I wake up and see the remnants of you, I hate you and I hate myself a little bit more.

Being a vegetarian has really made our relationship much closer because you are basically the only tasty thing left to consume. But after drowning myself in penne alla vodka, all I want to do is hit the treadmill.

You are an evil temptress as you take a variety of forms on a constant basis. You are there during every meal time, making yourself hard to resist. You are the reason I've spent half my paycheck on summer cover-ups and gym memberships.

You are sly and deceitful; you sneak your way into my favorite foods, which turns them into my most hated foods. I can't even enjoy a fruit salad anymore because you are in every berry I have grown to love.

On a weekly basis, I tell myself I am giving up on you, but somehow I always come running back. You could say that our relationship is the most dysfunctional one I have ever been in, but then again you haven't met my ex.

whoever claims they enjoy plain greek yogurt is a liar — A$AP Fern (@disco_infern0) May 13, 2014

I think you are to blame for my lack of self-control because once I start with you, I can't stop. Sure, I should take responsibility for myself, but I truly and wholeheartedly believe that you are the reason I can't resist temptation. You've really scarred me for life for that one.

You've taught me how to perfect the art of rationalization. Oh, that cake didn't count, it was my birthday. That bread didn't count, it was free. Those six slices of pizza didn't count because I was drunk... and so on and so forth.

On this hungover and miserable Monday, I just want to say F you as I run to the bagel store.