As I wait, starving, heating up my baked chicken and rice leftovers (marred by the presence of a half a wilted sweet potato), you mock me.
You call to me from atop the fridge, "Here I am! Salty, fried, decadent goodness! You've had a long day. Spouse is away on a business trip. Child is in bed. No one will know. You deserve me. You only have to eat one, then you can stop."
But oh, I know I cannot stop at one. The commercial speaketh the truth.
I try to resist you, but resistance is futile.
The crummy leftovers take forever to warm in the microwave. I think I can hold out for the 34 seconds remaining.
But no, I cannot.
I open you, tentatively, telling myself, "Yes, I will just eat one." But I know, the voice inside me knows, and my id, superego and ego have all joined together to taunt me. "WE KNOW YOU WILL NOT STOP AT ONE."
"Foo," I say. "I will stop. Yes, I will!"
But it is true. I have no self control.
I tear open the bag, eat 2 chips, and proceed to eat approximately 58 more.
I feel ill. But now the microwave, and my lukewarm leftovers, summons me.
I eat my meal in silent shame. (You thought I wouldn't have room, didn't you?)
Oh Potato Chip Bag, how I hate you. I blew all my Weight Watcher points.
I disgust myself.