It’s Not My Fault

I am helpless to control my appetite. This is puzzling. At 65, I should be a master of my own will. But my new neighbor, who owns a donut shop, came over at 4pm with a box of pastry unsold at closing time. A gift.

I looked at the box with some horror and tried to refuse. But my neighbor thought I was being polite and redoubled her effort at inducing me to accept the gift.

I said, “I’m pre-pre-diabetic.”

She said, “You can bring them home and share them with Gaia and Arta.”

She looked—truly—like she would be hurt by me failing to accept her gift.

After all, she is my new neighbor.

I thanked her and accepted the box. She left. 

I set the box to the left of the cash counter.

I realized that I have been so engaged with writing my newsletter, and with filling online coin orders, that somehow, I had failed to eat lunch today.

I peeked into the pastry box. It held three very fancy donuts, a large triangular frosted scone, and four pieces of coffee cake coated in powdery sugar.

The scone seemed to be the least sugary. It looked almost like bread. I began to eat it. I finished it before I really noticed that I had started. 

Then I ate a piece of coffee cake.

I felt thirsty, and went to get some water. When I returned, I ate another piece of coffee cake.

Finally—curious—I did eat the chocolate donut with the coconut flakes. For dessert.

Luckily, Nancy and Suzy arrived for this Shut Up & Write session—and I felt a wave of shame and self-loathing. Plus I was dizzy and somewhat sated. I have not eaten any more from the box.

I texted Gaia to confess, and she responded that we will get a lockable pastry safe for future gifts. So I won’t have to be in charge of controlling my own appetite.