Come to the dark side...

...we have cookies.

The pitfalls and dangers of parties and family gatherings.

Those of you puzzled by this statement, either have no family, and friends...
Or...you are lying to yourself.

There ARE, in fact, many dangers associated with parties...IF you are pursuing the daily struggle to lose weight and be healthy.

I was invited to a graduation party today-for one of my students.
She's a favorite of mine, I won't lie.
She's not going far next year...which is a huge relief-one less loss on my shoulders.
That's the thing about teaching...you lose kids every year...so it takes some hardcore thick skin and the ability to hold your tears. Which, I suck at.
But, it's a learning curve.
Anyway...back to the story.

At this party there was a lovely tray of chocolate chunk cookies-homemade.
Tollhouse variety, I'll bet.
I grew up on my Aunt Wanda's Tollhouse cookies. So, they are essentially another form of crack. (we spoke on this before) Crack is wack, but essentially this brand is ridiculously addictive and delicious, and when consumed en force...liable to cause tooth decay.
Crack.
So, this tray of cookies was there, and so was I.
And it was like a cheezy 80's movie montage with a song behind it:

I heard this song as I walked across the floor in slow motion. 

So, of course...there was a conversation with the cookies as well. 

Cookie: So, um...I have big, fat, chocolate chunks in me. You planning on eating me? 

Me: No. 

Cookie: Why?

Me: Cause I am trying to get healthy, and lose some weight. You aren't good for me. 

Cookie: Who says I'm not good for you? I mean...look, I have milk, eggs, and wheat...I may as well be a breakfast food. If you add all of these things into a blender with some fruit...I'm like a smoothie. 

Me: You forgot the sugar. 

Cookie: Well, sure....but there is sugar in everything. And I taste sooooooo good. 

Me: Yeah, I know...but I can't. 

Cookie: (getting angry) Can't or WONT???!!!

Me: Hey, don't get snippy with me cookie, I'm doing the right thing here...I'm avoiding diabetes, you asshole cookie!

Cookie: (speaking to the rest of the tray-cue sappy violin music) do you believe her? She-who stayed up late nights baking us with her treasured Aunt Wanda, and making so many memories, and happiness...and now she calls me an asshole?  She betrays us. What an ungrateful little...NO...I won't stoop to her level with the name calling.  But, can you believe her? 

The other cookies side-eye me. 

Me: Wait, I'm sorry cookie...I'm trying to be strong. You're not an asshole...you are a good cookie. How can you ever forgive me? (wiping a tear away)

Cookie: Eat me. 

Me: Well, that was uncalled for. 

Cookie: No, I mean...really...eat me. You'll feel better. 

Me: What about the diet, I'll feel so guilty.

Cookie: Aunt Wanda would be so proud. 

Me: Ok...I'll have just one. For Aunt Wanda. I'll eat you. 

Cookie: Thanks! I really appreci.... (gulp)

And in two bites...cookie boy was gone. 

And with chocolate on my mouth, I walked away. 

The rest of the cookies started taunting me. 

I mean...how did they know about My Aunt Wanda???

It was a trap. I know this now. I'm weak. 

This could be Aunt Wanda's fault, or maybe not. Ok, probably not. 

It's just me. And my love of baked goods and all things chocolate. 

Fuckin Tollhouse cookies. 

Yes, I ate a damn cookie. 

And I was totally OK with it and savoring the delicious sweet aftertaste- until I got home and sat down to pee. 

The scale. 

The scale was glaring at me from the floor. 

Scale: So...did we have fun at your little party today?

Me: Um...yeah. Sure. Fun. 

Scale: Did the party have food?

Me: Probably, I mean...I didn't really notice...I was talking to a lot of people. (starting to perspire) 

Scale. Uh huh. 

Me: What? What is that tone for?

Scale: Nevermind. Traitor. 

Me: (appauled) Traitor??? Why traitor?! What did I do? 

Scale: (meancing) You KNOW what you did. Look in the mirror...the evidence is all over your face. Chocolate lips, crumbs on your shirt. (exasperated) You bakery SLUT!.

Me: Don't judge me. Wait...did you say slut???

Scale: Oh, I'm judging fat ass. I'm judging. I'm the one who has to bear the weight of you, and the one who has to deal with the tears as you stand on me, and the hate and negativity. 

Me: Did you just call me a fat ass, and a slut- you bitch?

Scale: Yeah...I did! What of it???

Me: *Now attempting to choke said scale and rolling around on the floor like a complete lunatic.*

We made up. I explained the devil cookies and the guilt trip they gave, and the music in slow motion, and how I stopped myself from inhaling the entire tray. 

The scale now hates all cookies. She said it's OK. and forgives me. She said everyone slips now and then. But, also...that she would be watching me. 

I haven't mentioned to her how delicious that Nestle chocolate tasted or how the buttery dough melted in my mouth. That might make her mad again. 

But, she's mostly at peace now. 

Suspicious...But at Peace. 

Parties are fun. 

But, they usually have food. 

Bad food. 

Monday is a holiday. And a party. 

Damnit man. 

Another tray of cookies to conquer, probably...or cake. Shit. I don't think I can stand up to cake. 

The scale is going to beat my ass next week...I'm sure of it. 

Maybe I should cover her in plastic so she doesn't short circuit from the tears?

It might soften her up. 

But, probably not. 

That's the way it crumbles, I guess. 

The dark side has food, 

XOXO.

Cookie Monster.