Ahh, truffles in the morning…

So good going down. Filling before noon. Got all day to burn off all that F-A-T.

These See’s, they’re dangerous though: They put me over the edge. (Did I mention that Dave’s parents brought me a box of See’s truffles? I can’t remember, and I don’t feel like looking to see if I said something about it, so….) Two of those things is my limit. Beyond that I start to feel a little ill and have to eat something like potatoes or pasta to counteract all that cocoa butter and sugar. Braaah! Still, so irresistible and I just keep going back for more punishment; it’s like a bad relationship with really great sex. Of course, there’s that handy-dandy little Nutrition Facts slip they stick in there just to dick with you. As if. And even though I totally don’t want to know, I can’t help just seeing what kind of damage is sliding over my tongue. And oh gawd it ain’t pretty. Not in the least. Now, every time I wrap my lips around on of those luscious jewels, the image of those characters, TOTAL FAT 11g, lights up my cortex.

You realize that it’s Christianity’s fault we feel all this guilt (at least that’s what my Jewish ex-boss says). I’m not Christian, but you know, I was raised in a Christian culture and guilt is apple pie and the fact you ate it instead of not eating it and giving it away to all those starving kids in Ethiopia who, if they had a chance to slice it up and serve it out, would really die like you feel you would do if you ate the whole thing, or something else allegorical like that. Like if it were sex or as in this case, chocolate. Because, you know, ever since that original apple crunching episode, we’ve never been allowed to just enjoy pleasure. That’s right: pleasure = sin. Which makes me think, just right now, that these days the word "sin" doesn’t sting so bad. In fact, it seems kind of good, like it might represent the things you want to do - like Sin City, or a sinful demitasse of chocolate mousse. Pleasure. All the good stuff is a sin. Maybe we have made progress.

But you know all that, so I don’t know why I’m going on about it except that stupid Nutrition Facts label squeezing in on my pleasure center when I’m trying to have a moment of gastronomical ecstasy.