I know they are bad. Evil even. They are filled with sugar and white flour and high fructose corn syrup and more additives than you can shake a stick at. It seems Oreo’s are the devil himself!
But they taste like heaven. Or what I imagine heaven should taste like, if it were to have a taste.
There are times when Oreo’s are necessary. There are times when the little pressed black cookie can make a difference between the depths of depression, and hanging on a little longer.
Maybe it’s menopause, but I felt fragile and overwhelmed and terribly sad today. I burst into tears as I washed my lone lunch plate, missing the son I recently took to college, and the other one that just pulled out of the driveway on his way back to Charleston. Each one is a day’s drive away from me.
I thought about going to bed, curling up and taking a long nap. I thought about taking some of the anti-depressants I have stashed in the back of the cabinet.
And then I thought about the Oreo’s. The very idea of the sweet and crunchy, creamy and chocolaty cookie perked me up. I found them in their self-sealed bag, still in neat little rows like black checker pieces. I grabbed three of them and poured myself a glass of cold milk. Skim.
And I bit the top edge of the wafer off and chewed the cookie by itself. Then I bit into the creme along with the remaining edge. Then I sunk my teeth into both wafers and the creme at the same time. And I savored every bite.
I’d rather not say how many “doses” I took. Only that it worked.
I feel much better.
I’m just saying…
DOGS and LOVE – stories of fidelity
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