Temptation

I'm sure you've seen them too.
Those super-soft, abundantly frosted sugar cookies they sell at grocery stores and gas stations.

They are disgusting.
Entirely artificial.
Practically plastic.
Loaded with lard.

And I am powerless against them.

My grocery store (I just shop there; I don't actually own one.) puts them right inside the front door, where you have to pause for a moment and pick out your cart. That's when they get you. When it seriously crosses your mind to grab a carton of them and eat them all while walking the aisles.

I theorize that more than once someone has consumed the whole package and gone through the check-out with an empty plastic container, sheepishly explaining themselves to the cashier. In my imagination, the cashier replies, "Happens all the time, Honey. All the time."

Through the power of chemistry, these cookies morph with the seasons. They're red, white, and blue for Memorial Day and the Fourth of July, orange and black for Halloween, and an assortment of unnatural pastels when Easter approaches. They've got more colors than Sherwin-Williams.

Right now they are electric green.
With sprinkles.

Normally, I forge ahead, pushing past them on my way to the produce department. But today I needed to buy a treat for school, so into my cart they went.

I couldn't take my eyes off them.

They beckoned to me from behind the broccoli, and I could feel their presence nestled somewhere over by the peanut butter.

What is it about them that bewitches me so?

Is it their softness?
Their sprinkles?
Their unabashed artificiality?

They're the cookie equivalent of a bad boy, and part of me just wants to cast off my nutritionally-sensible upbringing, hop on the back of their motorcycle, hold on tight to their black leather jacket, and ride, baby, ride.

Ever since I got home, my thoughts just keep turning to the fact that they're here.

I can't get them out of my mind.

They're downstairs right now.
In a bag.
On top of the bookcase.

Yes, as they say in the horror movies, the call is coming from inside the house.

I would go take a picture of them to post here, just in case you're having trouble picturing what I'm talking about, but, that would mean opening the box. And I think we both know what that would lead to.

So, for now, I have resigned myself to writing about them, hoping to exorcise a few sugar-laden demons so I can sleep well tonight.

Grant me strength in this my time of weakness.