I knew what I was doing. Put the cookie in my mouth. Look at the bag; put another cookie in. I knew this was not the best choice, or even a good choice. But there were only a few left. They’ll just get stale, right?
Once you’ve had two, what’s one more?
At midnight, the chocolate chips squishing between my teeth with that perfect balance of flour and egg that makes the dough, I tried not to think of the morning when my pants will be snug.
I wish the weight I had put on over the years would just go away, puff! Then I could wake up and have my twenty-one year old body back. Cookies at midnight are not the best way to make that happen. I know. I know. But really, would instant weight loss be good for me? I don’t mean medically—I mean that other stuff— where the mixed feelings and the protective instincts live.
Here, have another cookie. They taste so good, don’t they? Tomorrow is another day. I’ll think about it tomorrow, just like Scarlet O’Hara.
