Meet my enemy. Thine name is Oreo.
I do not invite my enemy into my home. Because when it is here, I am powerless. I suddenly lose access to my common sense, and can think of nothing but dipping it in milk. Oh the soggy goodness. There is no self control. Everything about me changes, and all I can think about is how long it's been since I had one (or three), and will my husband notice if I have a few more?
Hmmm...the husband. HE is the guilty party in this! HE brought them into the house! Perhaps it's all a conspiracy on his part. Perhaps he really does prefer a "fluffy" wife, and knew that this would be my dreaded downfall in his desire for "more to love." Could it be? I can only hope.
They're almost gone. Soon, I can go back to my normal life, that does not include lactose tummy aches caused by all of this frenzied milk dipping and drinking. I won't have cookie breath, no cookie leftovers in my smile, and God willing, a little less guilt.
At least, until there's ice cream in the house again.