Sweet Tooth

Try as I may, I’ve never really been able to come to terms with something that has always been a major area of concern for me. And what might that be? A sweet tooth. I have a seriously problematic sweet tooth. If any of you reading this are similarly afflicted, you’ll know what I’m talking about. We were in all likelihood born this way, and I’m convinced that it’s virtually impossible to rid ourselves of these cravings. We try our darndest to control them, but that’s the best we can do. The never ending battle must be fought.

It’s a curse. No question. Sometimes it feels like there are two halves of my brain at war with each other, and this conflict can flare up at any time. I’ll be out and about when I suddenly lay eyes on some very appealing sweet treat, like maybe a cupcake, and every cell in that impulsive, give in to everything side of my brain starts telling me, “You want this. You must have this NOW. Don’t fight it.” Meanwhile the other more sane, throw a wet blanket on everything side of my brain says, “Step away from the cupcake. Keep moving. You do NOT need this.” In any given situation, all bets are off as to which half will win. It can go either way.

I hate to go blaming someone else for the severity of this problem, but that’s exactly what I’m about to do because I believe it to be genetic in origin. Both of my parents had a sweet tooth. My mother fought it. My dad didn’t. He was known to say that he often ate dinner just to get to dessert. So you see, I was doomed at birth. 

Maybe someday I’ll find a 12 step program that will help me conquer this. Maybe. Actually, now that I think about it, 12 steps wouldn’t be enough.