The Interogation

The past few nights have been a bit “out of the box” for me. Those who know me can attest to the fact that while I partake in overeating, I’m not known for excessive drinking. I do, however, partake in a little liquid pleasure from time to time. As you can imagine, if I’m hungry when I am not drinking, things escalate quite quickly when liquor is involved. I often find myself leaving the party early bcs the old belly is a callin…and it aint callin for salad with grilled chicken hold the dressing! Nope. My beer pangs are typically for Taco Bell or Wendy’s. Here’s the icing on the cake….it’s bad food late at night! Do the math sisters….that’s artery clogging loveliness with a side of sleep hold the time to burn! As my friend Susan would say, “Nothing good can come of this!” For this reason I usually decline happy hours and avoid parties. I got enough problems without adding mindless calories that encourage further deterioration of my organs. However, for the past two nights I did the unthinkable, I hung out and drank beer. Yes, that means I went to Taco Bell….and Wendy’s. I don’t like to show favoritism.

I was all about cutting back (this week) so I made sure I ordered less than usual. I only got three packets of hot sauce instead of four. I know…doing good right? When I got home from the Border my husband was waiting for me in the bedroom with a shrewd line of pre-planned questioning. No it wasn’t, “Are you ready to have mind blowing sex?” or “Where have you been I’ve prepared a lovely dinner for you…in bed” it was a straight up interrogation! If I had to describe the look on his face, I would say it was a cross between comedic, horrified and shocked. Sort of like if you were to walk in on your mother holding a loaded gun to your fathers head only to find out they were acting out some kinky sex role play. Like that. As you can imagine I was baffled. I had the #4 combo hot and ready for him so I knew it wasn’t about my cooking. He approached me slowly and asked, “Did you have a “chocolate problem” this week?’ My face bore the look of, Who me?…first sign of guilt. I responded, “Not that I can recall.” ( I learned that non-committal response from Court TV) He proceeded to tell me that he found 15 candy bar wrappers in the garbage. Picture a deer in headlights. It was clear that I was guilty but I had to come up with a quick rebuttal. While I was sweating out my next move he went on and on about….do I have a problem with chocolate, did I know how many wrappers there were and why I am hoarding food. I felt the shackles closing around my ankles. I don’t look good in orange..this is bad.

I proceeded to tell him that yes, I did eat those candy bars as part of my cut back plan. Had he asked a bit nicer I would have informed him that the alleged incident happened over several days (2), that the aforementioned candy wrappers were “mini” not full sized and that I had just emptied the bedroom garbage into the bathroom garbage thus propelling the said evidence to the top of the can. “Cross Examination Counselor?” He quickly retreated. Thas right…you ain no match for a fatty brotha! Now that that was out of the way, “Can I eat my Taco Bell?” Gheez. I went out on a limb and got that new Volcano Taco. Bad move. They call it that for a reason. Shit’s so hot it’ll make you wanna smack your mama! Couldn’t even eat it. Damn shame. We didn’t say another word about the “incident.” I was patting myself on the back for being such a quick draw when the tacos decided to make an exit. I headed to the bathroom to partake in my version of bulimia. Eat and poop. I don’t force it, it just happens. Doesn’t make a damn bit a difference on the scale so don’t try it! As I reached for the latest issue of “Hot Rods” (husbands), I noticed the evidence in the waste basket. Damn! It sure enough looked like fatty went crazy on some suga! Seeing it lying there in a pile was like being at the scene of a mass murder. It made me want to remove my ass from the seat and position my mouth around the bowl as a mandatory sentence for a crime too horrific to replay ! I felt like I had lied under oath. I hadn’t really lied. I just took the truth and made it easier to swallow…until now.

I decided I would wash away my sins…much like the Catholics wash away their sins with wine, I washed mine down with a run. Drinking had gotten me in enough trouble for one week. My husband was up and about when I left for my penance. When I got back I noticed that he was missing. Strange. I looked around the house to see what he was doing. Ok. Let me back up. I went looking for the following reasons: the Krispy Kreme donut box was lying empty on the counter, it was laying in an odd position (sort of a hurried crooked still open look) and I could smell melted icing waffling from the microwave. This was a 911. Wait…I was finding evidence of a crime in progress and I wasn’t the prime suspect. Interesting. Like any fatty on the trail of a crime that involves donuts, I went in un-armed. There he was…my husband….nestled in the bed like Mommy herself had tucked him in. He was holding a plate of freshly warmed Krispy Kreme’s and watching football. That’s a crime in itself. Everyone knows those two don’t go together. At least watch a trash talk show or Lifetime. The evidence was mounting. He was holding not one, not two but THREE freshly warmed donuts primed for his pallet! Sneaking donuts, pre-meditated warming of said donuts and consumption of more than one donut while in the act of watching man tv… straight up felony. The defense rests!