It's beckoned me.
At every gas station, at every 7-11, at every vending machine. I've done quite well at resisting thus far, knowing full well that "just once" would open the flood gates for a new generation of junk food cravings, but yesterday--in a moment of weakness--I succumbed.
I walked into a 7-11. Why? I don't know. I went in for no reason in particular, although I do recall a strange, magnetic sensation propelling me through the revolving door. And there it was before me: the veritable apogee of all that is scrumptious. Chocolate. Peanut butter. Cookie. Crunchy, yet smooth. Rich, yet airy.
After weeks of denying myself, the temptation got to be too much. I'm not a nun, for Pete's sake! I eagerly paid for my wares and hurried outside to savor what was sure to be a glorious mistake.
I delicately opened the wrapper and beheld the apex of human existence: two four-inch long dark chocolate wafers, lightly glossed with peanut butter, enveloped in milk chocolate ecstasy.
Indulgence.
Cherubim fluttered around me as seraphim sang heavenly praises to the God of All That is Tasty and Delicious: Mars, Inc.
I always thought it was kind of lame how the Fall of Man happened over fruit and not like Belgian chocolate or anything. Or at least a Hershey bar, for crying out loud. I always thought that, had I been Eve, Adam and I would still be living in paradise surrounded by cute snow leopards or something. But yesterday, as I partook of myForbidden Fruit, I understood where Eve must have been coming from. I guess indulgence is relative.
Is there a more perfect junction of palatable pleasure? Nay. The food industry has reached its zenith, for all future developments will most certainly pale in comparison to the Herculean achievement that is the peanut butter Twix.
At every gas station, at every 7-11, at every vending machine. I've done quite well at resisting thus far, knowing full well that "just once" would open the flood gates for a new generation of junk food cravings, but yesterday--in a moment of weakness--I succumbed.
I walked into a 7-11. Why? I don't know. I went in for no reason in particular, although I do recall a strange, magnetic sensation propelling me through the revolving door. And there it was before me: the veritable apogee of all that is scrumptious. Chocolate. Peanut butter. Cookie. Crunchy, yet smooth. Rich, yet airy.
After weeks of denying myself, the temptation got to be too much. I'm not a nun, for Pete's sake! I eagerly paid for my wares and hurried outside to savor what was sure to be a glorious mistake.
I delicately opened the wrapper and beheld the apex of human existence: two four-inch long dark chocolate wafers, lightly glossed with peanut butter, enveloped in milk chocolate ecstasy.
Indulgence.
Cherubim fluttered around me as seraphim sang heavenly praises to the God of All That is Tasty and Delicious: Mars, Inc.
I always thought it was kind of lame how the Fall of Man happened over fruit and not like Belgian chocolate or anything. Or at least a Hershey bar, for crying out loud. I always thought that, had I been Eve, Adam and I would still be living in paradise surrounded by cute snow leopards or something. But yesterday, as I partook of myForbidden Fruit, I understood where Eve must have been coming from. I guess indulgence is relative.
Is there a more perfect junction of palatable pleasure? Nay. The food industry has reached its zenith, for all future developments will most certainly pale in comparison to the Herculean achievement that is the peanut butter Twix.
A pregnant woman's dream.
