Monday, November 29, 2010

Day 22.

Day 22 – A letter to someone who has hurt you recently.

Dear Chocolate Pie,

Every Thanksgiving and Christmas you and I collide in a big way.  I eagerly wait for the day that I will be standing in the Jello isle of my local grocery store buying a box of chocolate pudding.  And oh that graham cracker crust...

I lovingly blend whole milk with that heavenly chocolate powder and try my hardest to make sure that each drop of pudding is poured into the crust.  Sadly, a spoonful or two will never make it, having been devoured by my impatient stomach.

I seal the lid on top of you and place you gently into the refridgerator.  And then I wait.

The holiday continues as planned... Family, friends, food.  I eat way too many rolls and more than my share of mashed potatos and gravy, but the whole time I have you in the back of my mind.  I cannot wait until everyone around me has had their share of dinner and I hate the waiting period where everyone looks like giant slugs tossed around the living room.  I cannot wait until I hear someone say, "Should we have some pie now?"

I hop from my comfy position on the couch and I am at the fridge in a flash!  I carefully pull you from your cold safe haven and pry the lid that protects you from my serving utensil.  I strategicly slice you, always giving myself a larger portion than everyone else, and add a dolop of whipped cream.

Heaven.  Chocolate pudding pie, you are my most hated love.  You taste perfect each and every bite.  So perfect that I need to have yet another helping.

It doesn't end there.  The next morning I sleepily saunter into the kitchen.  I know that I should have some cereal, maybe eggs.  However, the second I open the fridge, there you are.  Staring at me.  Pleading me to put you out of your half-eaten misery.  How could I say no to something that I care so deeply for?

Just like that dessert becomes breakfast.

Four days later I still have you on my mind.  And my waist.  For this, I hate you.  You have hurt me and my figure.  I wish I could say that I won't let you get the best of me again, but we both know that we cannot get enough of each other.

Missing you until Christmas,

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