From time to time, my mother gets on this kick that my husband and I have an eating disorder. Fortunately, she hasn’t brought it up in a long time, but I was thought about it the other day. A student of mine is in the Girl Scouts and asked me to buy some candy for her troop’s fund raiser. I did and, for my $7, received ten quarter-sized peanut butter cups. Oh! I thought. Joe will love these! Peanut butter cups are his favorite candy and these are supposed to be gourmet.
Unfortunately for Joe, I had to travel with the debate team to a school about an hour from home. After twenty minutes in the car, alone with the box of peanut butter cups, I succumbed to temptation and ate the candy. First, I ate just one, but then I ate another. By the time I’d eaten eight, I was ashamed and ate the other two out of guilt.
No peanut butter cups for Joe. This wouldn’t have been a huge problem, but I forgot to throw away the empty box and he found it a few days later. My secret is out. Maybe I do have an eating disorder. Egads.
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