I’m writing this about Cheesecake because it’s on my mind.
I wonder what’s worse than eating a piece of Cheesecake in front of someone who can’t eat dairy. It’s like shooting up heroin in front of a recovering addict. Hi, I’m Kristi and I’m a Cheesecake addict. It took a long time to get to the point when I could turn down cheesecake. The stomach pain after two hours didn’t deter me. Reinforcement needs to be immediate. Two hours is a long time to be able to think that I’d be okay.
I used to eat cheesecake on my birthday, on presidential debate night, even after I discovered that a small slice had 500 calories. And today as I watched him lovingly licking the smooth rich goodness off his spoon across from me at a restaurant, I wondered what I would give up to be able to eat Cheesecake again. My first born child? Ooh, Facebook? My one true unnamed addiction? Just for a bite of cheesecake I’d jump into Lake Willoughby in June, go to a highschool reunion, step foot in Nebraska, or listen to Miley Cyrus.
If only life worked that way. But it doesn’t. So instead, I watched someone else fall in love with a piece of strawberry Cheesecake. He offered his plate to me to lick clean, but one lick and I’d spend the next ten years obsessing over my next taste. It’s better to have the shakes for a few hours and make smacking yummy sounds in my sleep for a couple of days, and to know that the relationship with Cheesecake is entirely over. It is not ever coming back.
I do hope that if there is a heaven, it is made of Cheesecake and I am cured. Otherwise that would be hell. I would rather hell was a nest of snakes or Miley Cyruses. Cheesecake would be low and no one is that mean.