Lust, Lactose, and Love Handles
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The love affair began simply enough. It was late. I was weak. The tender indulgence that beckoned me with promises of complete gratification proved too great to resist. Admittedly, I did not offer much of a fight. It was all too easy to surrender to one who so fully embodied what I most deeply desired.

At once, my lips knew this was the one for me. It was infatuation at first bite. No longer would I be alone when the urge to satisfy my cravings reached an unbearable climax. No, I’d finally discovered my utopia, my reason for existence. I blithely set forth my own undoing in the arms of “Chocolate Seduction.”

Well, actually, Steven got the ice cream at Wal-Mart. He grabbed a carton of the usual fare with specks of vanilla bean that indicates you are eating real vanilla ice cream. My aunt in Kentucky once returned a cone because of those tiny black spots. She thought there was something there that shouldn’t be and demanded a refund. Something in the deep dark appeal of rich chocolate ice cream swirled with a decadent fudge filling appealed to my husband’s taste buds, so along with the vanilla, he grabbed a frosty canister of what was to be my ultimate demise.

  
 
Call it fate, call it compulsion, something made me give in to my spouse’s nightly appeal of “Do you want some ice cream?” I had been good. For weeks, the ice cream in our freezer just didn’t do it for me any more. I was victorious over sugar cravings, strong in the face of magnanimous confections purposefully designed to sabotage healthy dietary intentions. That fateful evening, Steven thrust a bowl of two devilishly delicious mounds of Chocolate Seduction in my lap, and it was all over. I fell.

I’d be lying if I said there hadn’t been others. Years ago, Baskin Robbins introduced me to Jamocha Almond Fudge, and I thought I’d found the one that would last a lifetime. Along came Quarterback Crunch, and I swayed, but my heart called me back to my first love. It was a match made in lactose heaven.

Of course, there’s no going back. Once you’ve fallen, you can only hope for mercy and absolution. Perhaps one day the spell will relinquish its hold. It would be fantastic if it would start with my gut. I’d love to spend my days and nights free from the pull of my deep freezer. I miss the time I could read or play with my children and not hear the sultry whisper, the love call of a wicked obsession that knows no hour. When this kind of passion engulfs your very being, you are powerless.

Oh, horrors! Powerless? I’m off to purchase a generator. Take my television, even my computer, but God forbid, don’t let my Chocolate Seduction melt. Parting would be such sweet, chocolaty sorrow. Then again, so is this sticky mess on my keyboard.

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