Don’t Stand So Close to Me I began to keep a daily log of my caloric intake after reading an article in Mother’s most recent issue of Good Housekeeping. It said that “diets were impractical without a calorie diary” and offered a list of helpful tips to curb carb cravings. It also gave suggestions of low-calorie alternatives: “Craving chocolate? Have a stick of celery. Hankering for a hamburger? Nibble on cucumber.” As a bonus, the magazine included a complimentary calorie counter. I found the perfect calorie diary in my dad’s university office one afternoon while I waited for his Friday lecture to end. It was a crimson notebook with a glossy cover that beckoned me like an Eden-red apple. Inside, it was blank, with smooth, pure white pages lined with grids—pages upon pages of miniature squares into which I could scribble a single caloric digit. The fixed and definite lines were comforting; they reassured me that my goal was at hand. There was no room to wander, to digress with words and wants and feelings.
