Donna Langston

You’re standing in front of the fridge at 6 p.m. Tired. Hungry. Staring at yogurt, leftovers, and that half-eaten bag of chips.

You’re tired of nutrition advice that changes every month. One day carbs are evil. Next week they’re back in style.

You’re tired of reading another diet article that tells you kale is magic one week and poison the next. I am too.

You’re tired of hosting feeling like a chore. You want your friends to walk in and say wow (not) what’s for dinner? I’ve been there.

You followed the recipe exactly. Measured everything. Set the timer. Even preheated the oven like they said. And still. Dry cake. Flat cookies.

You’re tired. Not just sleepy. Wired and hollow at the same time. I’ve been there. Staring into the fridge at 8 p.m.

I’m tired of staring into the fridge at 5:47 p.m., wondering what to cook that won’t make me sigh or scroll for twenty minutes. You are too.

You’re standing in front of the fridge at 6 p.m. again. Staring. Wishing something new would just appear. I’ve been there. More times than I care to count.

You’ve tried those “tropical” drinks before. The ones that taste like syrup and regret. I have too.

You hate vegetable juice. I know you do. That green sludge tastes like lawn clippings and regret. And yet you keep trying. Because you want the energy.