- Does anyone even know the protocol for which words you capitalize in the title head because I think I’ve been told it’s a stylistic judgement call. But I could barely make one of those calls when I was figuring out whether or not to put on socks today so I think I’m just going to ignore all the formatting stuff.
So right now I realized that everything happening in my life can be explained with this simple dilemma I have where, despite the definite possibility that I can absolutely be eating a cookie right now, I am not.
I am not eating a cookie because I am living in a small sector of the world where I’m swarmed by hordes on hordes of rich kids who are constantly saying they’re poor. Everyone’s poor, or broke, or whatever, and somehow we all still manage to have iPhones and buy overpriced dinners, or pay some asinine sorority dues and fines. As one of those kids who claims poverty just as much as the next person, I am not above my own judgement here. My parents still pay my rent, phone bills, tuition, and food, so although I am not currently poor, I know I will be. Thus, to baby myself into the actual poverty I will experiment at some point in the future, I am not buying this cookie. It’s about time to get myself used to the adult world. No more frivolous spending on warm chocolaty chips tucked away in a sweet blanket of crisped dough. It’s not a purchase I will be able to make in the future, so I refuse to make it now. All 100 cents are staying right here in my pocket.
So there’s that, the poor thing. Then there’s my gut, which I feel is under constant attack by everyone around me. I’ve gained weight, I’ve lost weight, I look good, I’ve looked better, my friend tells me I pull it off, but my shirt tells me to take it off. After my pathetic 7 minute “run” today I don’t even have the fallback of exercise to justify the extra calories, but it’s just one stupid cookie so I should have just quit the analysis and bought it, right? No. Instead, I bought a cup of sad black coffee and stared very longingly at the cookie with hopes that someone would have taken notice and bought it for me. I do that a lot actually and it has never worked.
To add to the overkill, my disturbingly psychoanalytic brain finds a way to add its two cents. The cookie is comfort food, and you’ve just been broken up with, do you really want to find solace in calories? Could this lead to the permanence of an emotional eating coping mechanism? Maybe best you stay away and come back to the sweets when you’re thinking more clearly.
So here I freaking am. Not poor, not fat, and not eating my emotions.
And one floor below me, that pretty little cookie is cuddling with its twin brothers and sisters. Affordable, averagely caloric, and uninterested in consoling my petty problems.
Just take it from me and buy the cookie.