The Day Of A Thousand Cheetos

OK, not really Cheetos. The Whole Foods all natural version of Cheetos. But still...

It started out innocently enough: after breakfast and second breakfast, and our trip the Farmer's Market and lunch and my 20 minute walk and second lunch (hey, don't judge until you've been pregnant with twins), I climbed into bed with my book and my water bottle for my doctor mandated mid-day lie down. Oh, and I also brought my cell phone and the land line, and the as of yet unopened bag of Cheetos.

I propped myself on my pillows, arranged the phones, took a swig of water, lay down, opened my book and opened the bag of Cheetos. Bliss: reading my trashy vampire novel (hey, I've already plowed through the first three, and it has now become apparent that the only way out is through), lying in my warm bed, eating Cheetos one by one, licking my fingers clean when the powdery orange build-up reaches just the right level. Bruno is out taking a hike, so I have a uniquely unmonitored afternoon: no one is walking in to the room to switch out my Cheetos for persimmons or some such nonsense. I take advantage, and continue to indulge.

And I read and I snack and I curl my toes with the decadence of it all. And at some undefined point that I always fail to notice when left alone with a bag of powdered cheese covered corn puffs, the tide begins to turn. I start feeling a little repulsed, a little sloth-like, a little depressed, even. Which makes me want more Cheetos, to get that bright cheddar high back. Now I notice that I'm thirsty, so I start guzzling water. Which makes me have to pee a lot. Which makes me start to get afraid that maybe I've got an infection. I talk myself off that ledge, and I reach for more Cheetos, just to take the edge off, you know?

And now I'm nearing the bottom of the bag. I don't want another day of cheesy corn snack temptation, so I feel I'd do better just to finish them off. And I loathe myself a little with each crunch, but I protect my future days by polishing off that wicked bag. I clean myself up, clean up the bed, hide the evidence, and drink water to the point where I'm swollen up like a balloon. I have a momentary panic attack and pull the bag out of the trash just to check whether "yeast" is one of the ingredients: it isn't, phew. Crisis averted.

Bruno comes home, ready to make me first dinner. I can't! I've just consumed a thousand calories of all-natural food of the devil. I'm grouchy and bloated and strung out on sodium and powdered cheese. As he begins listing possible dinner options and my stomach starts swimming in a highly dangerous fashion, I realize I'm going have to 'fess up. Bruno looks half dismayed, half amused, and we compromise on a punitive salad, to be choked down by me any time between then and bedtime.

I have just about finished that salad now, dear readers. And as I force my last bite of arugula and shredded carrot, I swear I will never eat Cheetos again!

Well, at least not a whole bag of them all in one sitting.... :)