I can hear crackers. They talk to me.
Shhh. Listen. "I'm here for you, just waiting," three thousand little Pepperidge Farm Goldfish tease from behind a closed kitchen cabinet. "We are salty and crispy. Pair us with a nice cold Chardonnay. Don't forget about that cajun spice you bought in New Orleans. Sprinkle a little on top"
I put yellow post-it notes on this troublesome kitchen cabinet where crackers, pretzels, and cereals are stored. Little hopeful messages like "Nothing tastes as good as thin feels. You can do it. Celebrate your success."
The Goldfish counter the messages. "Cheddar crackers taste better than celery sticks. You lost the weight. What's the worry? Celebrate with a little snack. You earned it."
"Stop it!" I shout to the plump orange happy fish. Why did they have to imprint smiles on them?
"Did you see that we are now made with whole wheat flour? It's a whole grain. You know you love those," they reply.
These are cunning Goldfish. Slipping into the weaknesses of my psyche with the long red nozzle of a can of WD-40.
How did they get into the house? Who let them in? Oh. I did. I had to buy a snack for nature summer camp. Good. They must be presented in tack--the over-sized square carton sealed and secure. That's my solution.
Hopefully, the teacher won't comment about the duct tape and bungee cord I wrapped around the box.
If she's got ears, or hips, she'll understand.
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3 years ago
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I'm glad you wrote about this because, oddly-enough, I hear voices, too -- cookie voices. The last-of-the-batch home-made ginger-molasses cookie in the cupboard is calling my name right now. Am I strong enough to ignore it, and leave it for my 18-year-old son? (The weightmonster, from whom I am perpetually running, has caught me this summer.) On another topic, the What Are You Reading This Summer topic, I am reading (for the third time) 'Lost on a Mountain in Maine.' My reaction to the book the first time I read it was: "What fool takes his kid into the wilderness without giving him a backpack with, at least, a candy-bar in it?" (Be prepared -- good motto.) This time, I am thinking that I need some sort of reverse preparedness, to survive this stressful, modern, urban wasteland.
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