I am a comfort animal—a devoted hedonist, a coffee addict, a person who many weekday mornings sits down to a full breakfast of sausage and eggs. My friends do not seem confident about the juice thing. This is, after all, a juice fast whose instructions read, in part: "If you absolutely need to eat, first try raw food because that keeps the enzymes from moving back into your digestion. But the food desire is more of a head game. You can easily survive 30 days without food." EASILY! Really. WHO KNEW. When I told my friend it meant I couldn't drink coffee, she laughed so hard she hit her head on a table.
The company representative said I could choose a three-day fast, but "many people say they start to feel really good on the third day and wished they had gone for the five-day instead." So I went for it. It consists of four 16-ounce juices a day. "Once your juice arrives, remove solid foods from your diet, flood the body with healthy nutrient-dense and enzyme-packed juice," warble the instructions.
In the time it took to write this post, I drank my first green-brown juice. It made my mouth tingle with fennel. I feel cleansed-er already. And hungry as fuck.
Meanwhile, Megan Seling just sent an officewide e-mail with a picture of the four different kinds of her fucking amazing cupcakes she just brought in for everybody. She says: "I even brought my culinary torch for the brulee!" I AM NOT KIDDING.
We shall see, Slog. We shall see.