Confession – The Oreo

Since my last “Confession” post seemed to be so popular, I’ve decided to do another. There’s just something about someone else’s “dirty little secret”. Now, I am not going to “do a “Confession Wednesday, Thursday or Friday”, ’cause I prefer alliteration and frankly “Confession Caturday” Just. Doesn’t. Work. Plus, guilt can’t be planned. It is organic, and rises from within. Only one’s gut can put the “Call Out”. Just sayin’…

If I were to overdose on any substance – it would be Oreos.

I’m not even kidding.

I don’t know what it is about those hard chocolate-cookie disks that protect the soft artery-clogging whiteness. Many-a-belly ache I have endured because the emotional pleasure of consumption totally covers up any warning signs my physical body give. Like a drug.

So, if I buy a bag – I buy it for large groups or buy it knowing I will be consuming most of it (*ahem, in hours*). Henceforth, I buy Oreos infrequently, and cannot buy them well in advance of a large-group gathering. I have even put a bag of them girls in a ziploc and then used packing tape to keep me out.

Anyone ever heard of scissors? Yeah, me too.

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