I have made no secret of my love of yummies. Treats are treats. Sometimes they are a gluttony. Other times they are a necessity.
I also try very hard to be ‘good’ and I am always very ‘good’ in front of my children. I encourage that treats for them are healthy. Am I a saint? Unlike that godly lady, Mother Teresa, no.
So the other day, after eight classes teaching English in a sweltering classroom on a humid day, with the thud of a sinus pain in the back of my head, swinging its rucksack as it marched cheerily alongside PMT in a war against my sanity, I needed to eat.
Problem was, I wanted cheese. Chocolate. Fizzy pop. All things that make sinus sing a louder song of pain. That didn’t matter. PMT had sinus by the neck. I needed the nasty naughties.
I tried to do it secretly.
My little ladies were distracted by Dora. A plastic box of squeaky eggs. Toy phones.
I quickly began the private picnic. I had a (stale) small white roll stuffed with grated mozzarella. A small bottle of diet seven up. A chocolate mini roll. I hid the drink and the cake. Started on the cheese roll.
Soon Betsy spotted my munching and demanded her crumb.
Gigi began to nudge in my direction. I felt like those kids in Jurassic park as the velocirapter slowly circled a deserted science lab searching his prey. Over she comes. I launch to protect the drink-hiding it further into the side of the couch. As I do, I knock and spill the cheese roll. Everywhere. I dart forward to salvage what possible. The Seven up lid was loose. It is flowing away down the side of couch, escaping like my dream of eating rubbish in ‘secret’.
Gigi watched the mayhem in interest.
By the way, she was standing on the mini roll.
Karma bites. Bites so I don’t get to bite anything!
Back to water and fruit. Safer.