Full Disclosure: What’s Stalking New Canaan

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Celery juice. Contributed photo

Cheers to 2019 and here’s to hoping that most of New Canaan has broken their New Year’s resolutions, or at least cheated a little bit. That way, I can feel validated for not even trying to tweak my bad habits or curb my indulgences. Life’s too short to be anything other than perfectly imperfect. 

Sure, I could eat healthier, drink less wine and embrace the “hungry feeling,” but it’s too much fun and gratifying being a little bit bad. Plus, observing all of my friends’ self-torture from the sidelines is a hoot, and my new pastime. 

You see, a vast majority of my fellow New Canaanites have adopted the same health kick: “juicing.” 

And I don’t mean that they are engaging in illicit steroid use. Sadly, I think I am the only one who inwardly giggles when a “juicing” reference is made and I conjure up images of bikini clad, orange-stained bodybuilding New Canaan moms in a ‘roid-fueled rampage. Instead, and far less disconcerting, my cohorts are drinking massive amounts of juice and they have settled on the most unappealing vegetables to transform from a solid into a liquid. 

Case in point: celery juice.

I am personally waging war against celery and what it has done to my friends and social life. During a lovely New Year’s Eve party in town, I became caught in the crossfire between intensely devoted “juicers” debating the perks of rival $400 juicing machines, the health benefits of celery, and pulp…the dreaded pulp—any juicers’ kryptonite. The evening discourse swirled around de-bloating, instant weight loss, glowing skin and bowel movements. Yes, you are officially old when people are openly discussing BMs—at a party. 

Curious to taste celery stalks in juice form and to see if there was room in the bandwagon, I visited my very svelte, radiant, celery-pushing friend. She prepared a shot glass of the cloudy green liquid, since I was only willing to try a small serving out of fear that my body would violently reject celery sap. Surely, my friend was secretly relieved that I wouldn’t use up too many precious stalks. One should be deeply concerned about the potential for a celery shortage in the New Canaan area. 

This is not an unreasonable fear—everyone is drinking celery. Goodbye, kale. Hello, celery.

Personally, I thought the juice was “eh.” ‘Eh’ is the only accurate descriptor for celery nectar. It made me think, why would I want to drink this on purpose and on a regular basis—unless it was sure to cure a rare terminal disease? The juice made me pine for Gates’ buffalo wings and blue cheese dressing. Honestly, celery was designed by God solely to accompany chicken wings and heavily doused in blue cheese dressing. As I salivate, I realize why health kicks evade me: I don’t inherently grasp the concept.

Luckily for the juicers of New Canaan, you are a strong breed, with a high tolerance for neglecting your tastebuds. I hope you glow, de-bloat and fare well in 2019. I have decided to forgo the juicing craze and stick to supporting our local coffee shops by ingesting massive amounts of coffee laced with a truckload of sugar and non-organic milk. 

New Year, new you? Fine, knock yourselves out. New Year, same me. Celery juice would only scratch the surface anyway.

6 thoughts on “Full Disclosure: What’s Stalking New Canaan

  1. Totally giggling, Susan! Funny, I thought celery was for “ants on a log” for my kids and the “food” in my bloody Mary! 🙂 🙂

  2. OMG Suzie! Great way to kick off the new year! I wonder who you are talking about? Lol. Thanks for the laughs AGAIN and for being so real. Xoxo

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