Well.

The end is in sight.

A week from today will make a full 30 days I have been on this detoxification train. It hasn’t been as difficult as it might sound, but that could be because I have pretty simple tastes…and some days are easier than others.

I have learned how to eat mangoes and blueberries and strawberries, and I have rekindled my relationship with kiwis. I have made brown rice my bitch. I have reevaluated the way I shop, and my pantry will never be the same.

It’s likely that I will continue using coconut milk on my oatmeal, though I’m hoping I can alternate that with fat-free vanilla soy.

I’ve made my peace with nuts and will never ever be without almonds and/or pistachios in my cupboards. But I still don’t know why they’re so damn expensive. Thank god for Trader Joe’s.

I can easily go without beef and most dairy and coffee as needed, as well as most bread and pastas. I am less happy about abstaining from wine and yogurt and honey nut Cheeri0s. I feel overall like this is something I could do again, should I get to the point where I’m feeling all blurghy and phlblphbhphttt.

It’s interesting also to study the difference between “healthy” and “good for you.” As much as I loves me some hummus and it’s generally a healthy choice, it may just not be good for my system. I’ll be anxious to see how the test results come back in a couple of weeks.

Because I’m cutting this sucker two days short, with nutritionist approval. Although I believe I have shown tremendous restraint through weeks of my ordinarily epicurean lifestyle, and I am faced with a challenge that trumps voluntary food restrictions: A bachelorette party in a city where no one knows me.

I withstood the pressure of the homemade pizza. I attended a Ladies’ Night and drank water. I even stared down a plate of fried cheese curds in Wisconsin. Fried. Cheese. Curds.

But I call Uncle when it comes to a Train Picnic and a bacchanalian bash to toast a great friend and celebrate her future with a man who makes her all swoony.

So I am opting for the more scientific method of determining which foods are thwarting my healthy-living efforts — the finger-pricking device, which I will pick up on Wednesday and, I hope, mail out on Thursday. Long before my blood-alcohol content exceeds the legal limit, taps the brakes to give it a polite nod, then orders tequila shots all ’round.

Okay, I may only drink wine all night, but the rest of it is dead on. I ask you: What’s more important, your friends, or your liver?