Two seconds: The amount of time I wish would elapse between eating my last bite of Thanksgiving dinner and starting on Thanksgiving dessert.
Two hours: The amount of time that actually elapses.
Complete hell: The amount of time in between these two events.
Over the years I’ve had varying opinions about whether food addiction exists and if I have it, but the single-minded focus I felt in anticipation of devouring some dirt cake and apple crisp on Thanksgiving presented a strong case for its existence.
Literally the moment I finished eating dinner, I wanted to eat dessert. I love sweets and I knew there was a delicious concoction of crushed Oreos, whipped cream and cream cheese sitting in the fridge. I found myself sitting at the table while other people were still finishing their meals thinking, “Oh my God! Eat faster! Don’t you want dessert?!” Then when we were all done, we helped with the washing up. (I supervised!) And people mingled. And went to the bathroom. And started chatting. And while it really is lovely to catch up with family and friends, OH MY GOD COULD WE PLEASE HAVE DESSERT?!
Of course, I couldn’t just scream that to everyone in the dining room, because it would be totally weird and embarrassing. Instead, I had to sit around pretending I wasn’t thinking about doing horrible things to my blood sugar levels. Secretly, though, I was wishing we could get the dessert plates out already. (I’d be happy to help!) And when I wasn’t thinking about crushed Oreos, I was thinking of how disordered this way of thinking is, and how “normal” people probably don’t feel this way about dessert, and wishing this craving would go away please for the good of both my health and my waistline. But it didn’t. Addiction never goes away. The lil’ fucker.
Eventually we did have dessert and it was very good. Yum. Yum to the yum, yum, yum. I enjoyed it very much, and somehow managed to eat until I was full but not stuffed. Small victories, y’all. Small, small, victories.