And then I ate another and one more after that. Until I graduated to a taste here and there of a pan of brownies that I’m real sure ended up being a whole one by the time I was done. It’s not about weight that I shouldn’t be doing this closet eating but well, I shouldn’t be eating that stuff at all. I’m telling you, if this is what it’s like to come off drugs, I can see why it would be a bitch to kick. I want the damn cookies and brownies sometimes but like drugs, it’s not even good for me in moderation right now. I’m telling you folks, I need to be sitting in group therapy. I’ve already had family intervention. But. Like. Well. Why they keep bringing shit to the house without so much as letting me have a taste of it or bring me a healthy version of what they’re eating? So what do I do? I wait ’til nobody’s around to admonish me. They can’t be walking around in my house treating me like a child. Hell, they’re my children.
Little Totsy and Miss Fiancee had been baking cookies and brownies from scratch, which I’d been heavily funding, and finally, I had to know how the finished product tasted. As if I’d never bitten into a damn chocolate chip cookie before. But you better well know that I was on it, dog gone it, back in the day (last year). Every time Mr Boy went off to the store, I’d ensure Little Totsy and Miss Fiancee were well stocked in what they needed for baking. You know how it is. It would give them something constructive to do. I wasn’t counting on falling victim to the aroma wafting from the oven. I’d been so strong for a good while. Now guess what they’ve got sitting in the freezer? Some damn ice cream. A big tub of it too!
And yes, I am a victim. That’s what was projected in the Super Size Me movie. I’m even more of one than the folk in that movie. Well, I bought the ice cream but I didn’t know I bought it until it ended up in the freezer. Oh hell yeah, I ate some brownies and scooped some vanilla ice cream on top. The shit was good too! How many times I did it? I think three times but I’d be safe to say five…Yeah, that sounds more like it.
Matter of fact, if anybody’s got a problem staying away from certain foods, it ain’t your fault. Uh uh. You can point the finger at your parents for even starting the bad food habit. I wouldn’t be in the mode of eating stuff that’s bad for me if I’d never been introduced and reintroduced to it over and over again by the folk in charge of me. I mean, I was an unsuspecting child left to the vices of adults, while trying to figure out 2 + 2. And yeah, I worked out the problem fine but nobody ever said brownie + ice cream x 30 days = fat ass or high cholesterol or high blood pressure or diabetes or shit, in my case, up all night.
So folks, I know some of you may disagree with me but I’ve decided to take my mother to court. That’s right. My lawyer’s gathering all the evidence against her now and we’ll be serving my step-dad up too ’cause he was a manager at the damn grocery store and did occasionally hook me up with damage-packaged products the store wouldn’t sell. Oh, I don’t give a damn if it was washing powders and Comet, he’s getting served with these papers. In a lawyer-chasing-ambulance society, why should I take responsibility for anything? Matter of fact, I have a separate case pending for folk who’ve made me sick. Figuratively speaking, that is.
Think about it. Who can you think of to bring to justice?