I have found it extremely unfair that one's body does not take into consideration all the calories that one was tempted to consume, but didn't. Emerging on the other side of a valiant struggle does not result in less bonus ounces as a reward for my victory.
"Thank you so much," I said reluctantly. The beaming client had graciously bestowed upon me a box of chocolate-covered pretzels, and had also related with delight about the weight gain they had caused her.
Gee. How . . . nice of her.
I unhappily toted the gift bag home. On the way, the bag began to talk.
"So, long day, huh?"
"Well, no worse than most."
"Yeah, yeah . . . have a little touch of a headache, don'tcha?"
"A slight twinge. Probably bad air today."
"Yup, yup . . . you know what could help? A pretzel."
"Sure! You just need one pretzel for a boost. One teeny-tiny, eeny-weeny, pretzel. A dash of salt and sugar to knock that headache away."
I considered the bag's proposal.
"I dunno . . . I don't think I'll stop after one."
"Why not? You're pretty disciplined."
"Not that disciplined. Besides, once I open you, there'll be pressure to finish you up before you go stale. I would rather wait, have supper. Some pan-fried vegetables. Then I won't want you anymore. No offense."
"None taken," the bag icily replies. "But don't you feel like just one bite of chocolate-covered pretzel?"
"Don't get me wrong, I'm sure you're delicious, it's just that I can't afford to open you up. It'll unleash the Dark Side, I know it."
"Did you just call me Sith?"
"Um, I think I did."
"I thought we had a closer relationship than that."
"We just met this morning. Get over yourself."
The bag and I argued and bickered until I reach the sanctuary of home, where I shoved the box into the pantry, cutting off its entreaties. I then headed to the stove where my roasted vegetables awaited (thanks, Ma) and ate a responsible meal without lingering self-loathing and aftertaste of my succumbing to temptation.
I won't lose any bonus ounces for resisting, but I still feel like a champion.