Call of the Wild

I try to be good.

Honest, I do try. But, around 9 or 10 at night my resolve wavers when I start to hear the voices.
Not the voices in my head.

No, really.

These are different voices.

They come from the kitchen, from the direction of the pantry to be precise. From the goodies residing in there. The crème filled cookies, the licorice, the tortilla chips, the eagle brand milk, the cinnamon hearts, the chocolate chips, the microwave popcorn. They all keep calling to me. Softly at first, then more insistently.

“Nana.”
“Nana?”
“Nana, don’t you feel like having a cookie?”
“How about just one?”
“C’mon how about a nice, sweet coconut crème cookie?”

A few minutes later.

“Nana?”
“Nana?”
“A cookie. An ULTIMATE coconut crème filled cookie.”
“There’s lots."

"A whole box."

"How about just one measly delicious coconut cookie?”


Silence.

Then,
“Did we mention we are sweet?”
“ And delicious?”
“ And coco...”


ALRIGHT, shut up! I’ll have two okay? That ought to shut you up. There, I ate two. Happy now? Shut up, I’m reading.

A little bit later.


“Nana”
“Nana?”
“Nana, don’t you feel like a handful of tortilla chips?”

And on and on it goes until I have grazed through a few handfuls of chips. With sour cream. More cookies, some raisins, a whole bag of microwave popcorn and three or five pieces of licorice, some cheezies and a couple of Hot Rods.

Finally, when I am stuffed and more than a bit sick from all the junk I’ve eaten I think there will now be silence.

Until the voices start. From the fridge.


“Nana? I think there’s a left over smokie from supper.”
“How about some nice Greek salad?”
“Nana?”
“Nana?!”

I feel like my stomach is Audrey II begging and crying for me to "feed me".

Funny how there aren’t any voices coming from the closet where my runners or the dog’s leash reside. Nothing in there demands my immediate attention or insists on being taken out and enjoyed.

And those vegetables going soft in the crisper? Not a freaking peep out of them either.

I'm going to make myself a tinfoil hat to block their transmissions. That'll fix them all.


I’m going out on a limb here. I think I have an eating disorder.

It’s called gluttony.