I looked at Scott across the table and pleaded, "You've got to help me."
He replied, "I will do what I can, but you have to find the strength within you...ask God to help. Admitting you have a problem is the first step toward recovery."
Many long minutes later he pressed, "Are you willing to admit it now? Can you say it out loud?"
Honestly? No. I'm not capable of divulging my faults to anyone other than God and Scott. (Or my beloved Sunshine, my self-professed diet/nutrition/exercise expert.) It requires heroics I do not possess, because at my core I'm rather a large wimp.
Thirty-four and a half years have I been in this world, and in all that time I've resisted. Oh, there's been the occasional recreational use. I probably enjoyed it more in my teen years than as an adult. You know the song...be young, be foolish, but be happy.
Party after party I've attended and completely abstained, never once giving it a second thought. Until now.
I have an addiction, people. I'm either knock-knock-knocking on Heaven's door...or knock-knock-knocking on Betty Ford's. I'm inclined to believe that either door would help me now.
Oh, Blue Bunny Peanut Butter Cookie ice cream...what you've wrought in my life. You've taken an occasional ice cream imbiber and made her a full-fledged devourer of this icy cold treat.
I will never be the same again.
Please y'all...send help. And please let it be in the form of a deliciously prepared spinach salad with balsamic vinegar dressing. Because I need some nutrition up in here. Or else it will be death by Peanut Butter Cookie ice cream.
But what a way to go...