Now that we’ve fixed pubic ed, we can move on to . . . yogurt.

Eating yogurt, like most of life, entails decision-making. What kind to eat?

Since Lance has recommended more pictures and you’ve been dying to know, here’s a pictorial that represents the yogurt journey I’ve been on.

Initially, my yoggie world was all YoPlait, all the time. It was ubiquitous, I was unsophisticated, and it had lots of sugar. Favorite flav was KeyLime, but French Vanilla rallied and overtook it as the #1 seed.

Everything was copacetic until the wife rocked my yoggie world one summer day by saying, “You know YoPlait has a lot of sugar.” Voice inside my head, “No duh, why do you think I like it so much.” Actual voice, “Mike said Tillamook is very good and has less sugar, maybe we should give it a try.”

And like a dairy Tiger Woods, I began eating around.

What wasn’t there to like about Tillamook? Good taste, less sugar, and two extra ounces.

It was a solid relationship, until, you knew an “until” was coming, until I started to hear repeated references to a different, more exotic and alluring yoggie. . .Greek.

I read references to it in triathlete’s blogs, I heard more and more people talking about it and got wanderlust. Because I wanted to be like the other kids, I instructed the wife to “Bring me some of this magical yoggie of which everyone speaks.”

And so yesterday, with the YoPlait and Tillamook quivering in the fridge, I assembled three versions of Greek on the kitchen island and proceeded to taste each. I was underwhelmed, whelmed, and overwhelmed.

Then I took a look at the nutritional info and understood why: blow those pics up and take a gander at the sugar, fat, protein, etc.

In layman’s term, you could eat the nonfat like it’s Hagen Daz, empty the cartoon, and barely move the needle on the scale. In contrast, you gain weight from the regular, which overwhelmed me, just by glancing at it in the fridge.

But this isn’t a problem, the wide range of choices is quite nice. This morning I ran 10k and then swam 3.5k. I sucked down some regular guilt free. Tomorrow morning, when I won’t have time to workout before teaching, I’ll apologize to my taste buds and probably go with the non-fat.

Imagine if life was so accommodating. I’m sure my wife would love it if she could alternate among three of me. When she hears me pull into the garage, she could say I want non-fat Ron so “Just zip it and listen to me all night.” Or regular Ron, “Okay, talk to me, engage me, make me laugh.” Or low-fat Ron, something in between.

Wondering about the Mountain High? It’s the (mostly summer) smoothie workhorse that the wife gets at the hippy co-op. It’s okay with some of the wife’s all-world granola, but it’s most at home in the blender with ice, fruit, and juice.