You may not believe this, but I have a cooking syndrome. Have you ever heard of such a thing? It may not be in any medical book or pamphlet, but it is as real as the wedding ring on my finger.
What’s a syndrome? A syndrome is a pattern of actions or emotions associated with a particular condition or circumstance.
I know it’s a syndrome because I react the same way (this is a pattern) whenever pressed to cook certain foods. I don’t have an aversion to cooking, but I hate cooking stuff that I can’t resist eating, namely deserts.
I don’t mind cooking vegetables: greens, peas, beans, mac & cheese and stuff. No problem here: I can love them and leave them. Oops, I almost had a Rick James moment. But I have a love-hate relationship with desserts.
I love desserts, but I hate cooking them because I love them too much.
Does this make sense?
When asked to cook a cake, cobbler, or pie, my brain twitches in its cradle and emits alerts about overeating. The alerts reverberate throughout my limbs and torso. Fat cells awaken and anxiously wait in my stomach and thighs to satisfy their voracious appetite.
My stomach and thighs love desserts as much as I do! These insatiable piranhas are the ruin of any healthy, weight and figure-conscious female.
Fat cells are the happiest of campers when you, me, or anyone else overeat.
It is futile to resist a homemade cake, cobbler, or pie, especially if you baked it. When you take it from the oven and place it on the counter, you know.
IT’S ON!
I didn’t think there was anything lower than a lowdown dog. But fat cells are lower. They’re the scum of overeating, and they want to sculpture our hips to look like two flaky Cracker Barrel biscuits. in miniature stilettos.
Don’t make the mistake of underestimating these cells’ ability to create and store the ooey-gooey fatty stuff. Fat cells are the worst ‘but’ buddies.
BUT you can eat just a little bit. A little bit once, twice, three times, you see the pattern. And a little bit several times can end up at settling at the border.
Watch out for the other butt!
The other day Mom asked me to cook a peach pie. The words cook and pie tripped the alarm: my brain started twitching, and overeating alerts flashed brighter than police lights in a dark alley.
Need I tell you, the peach pie was good! At least that’s what Mom said.
Okay, the but got the best of me, and I ate a little pie. Don’t ask! I plead the Fifth on the number of servings. Mom was right; it was good. And so were the homemade biscuits I cooked.
The biscuits were also Mom’s idea. Homemade biscuits with peach pie, give me a break! But my husband didn’t balk at either request.
The moral of this story is if you cook it, you will eat it!
What’s a dessert-loving American to do?
Here’s to not cooking delicious deserts OR more willpower to put the squeeze on fat cells.
And no but and butts about it!
Then again, no one’s perfect.
Be safe