blue artichoke

No holiday baking yesterday. I was too grumpy to muster up the Christmas spirit. I’m through shopping, but I still had errands to run and cars to test-drive. I headed out in a genial mood and decided to swing into Petco for a little holiday treat for Fat Larry. He likes those feathers on a stick that look and sound like birds flying about the room. I found a few other treats for Fat Larry’s friends, but as I was browsing, a jerkface with a Doberman came into the store. I am terrified of Dobermans, with good reason. I’ve been attacked by two at separate times in my life. The first was as a youngster; the dog bit my face and I had stitches. I’ll show you my scar sometime. The second time was in college and the dog bit a big gash in my ankle, leaving only emotional scars. This was a dog I had to live with for several weeks, and it terrorized me every single day. It got to the point where someone had to walk me from the gate to the front door, beating the dog with a stick on the way. I don’t advocate animal cruelty, but it was satisfying to see a bloodthirsty snarling dog get a beat down every day. Anyway, given my poor track record with Dobermans, I avoid them. Actually, I stand rooted, hands to the chest, frozen in terror, until I’m able to move again, at which time I cower behind anyone nearby, or cross the street or turn around and walk around the block. So this Doberman bounds up to me and I backpedaled to the safety of a display of cat towers. Thwarted, the Doberman found a chirpy poodle dressed in a sweater to terrorize. The staff had to get some treats to console the shaking poodle and distract the Doberman. The jerkface was unconcerned. Meanwhile, I tried to pay for Fat Larry’s treats and leave, but the Doberman began patrolling the check out. I hid. When the Doberman started sniffing bags of dog food, I crept back into line. The Doberman came back; I dropped my treats and bolted out of the store, mowing down a few people on the way. I had to sit in my car and shake for a while until I was ready to console myself with French fries. By this time, it was raining and I decided to put off test-driving cars. My nerves were already shot, and it’s scary enough to drive an unfamiliar car with a stranger watching you without adding in the slippery roads and idiot drivers who don’t use headlights or turn signals. Stupid jerkface and Doberman ruined my day.

I wrote the above entry right after I got home from the Doberman encounter. Later last night, while still reliving the terror, I thought it interesting that my response, after composing myself, was to get French fries. It’s natural that I would turn to food when stressed out; indeed, it’s biological. Stress lowers serotonin levels, the brain chemical that makes us feel happy. Raising the blood sugar level by eating sugar and refined carbohydrates temporarily causes the level of serotonin in the brain to rise, and puts us in a better mood, temporarily. Now, with a glycemic index of 75, fries raise blood sugar faster than almost any other food, except for a fistful of sugar. Fries are strips of the starchiest potatoes covered on all sides with fat. That’s a recipe for happiness, except that the serotonin levels drop and create cravings for other sugary and carby foods. If you stop yourself at the fries, you’ll be grumpy again in a few hours. If you give in to the cravings, you’ll be happy a bit longer, then grumpy later. I’m a bit disappointed that I went straight for the fries; I like to think myself evolved past base biological urges, just like I think that when it comes to death, an exception will be made for me. That Doberman set me back on a biological self-destruct cycle! It and it's owner should be punched in the face.

Getting to Know All About You: What do you do to cure a bad mood?