“And since it was Millie’s birthday, last week, I made treats,” Sister Palmer, my sunday school teacher, said excitedly.
Around me, the rest of the class was perking up, eager to see what she’d made for me.
But I freeze. Because I wasn’t excited.
How could I be?
Why would I be?
What cause is there in being excited about 400 calories minimum of sugar and fat that I have to eat?
I inhale sharply and try to pretend that I didn’t see my teacher’s face fall when she saw that I wasn’t excited.
As she went on to describe the recipe, I kept a tally.
Double the peanut butter. 400 right there.
I’ve never bothered to keep Rice Krispie Treats logged in my mental database of food since I’ve never eaten one since I started keeping track of calories. But I’m guessing at least 200.
Chocolate chips on top. 140.
All together, it’s more than I was planning on eating for the whole day.
I inhale again as Sister Palmer passed the treats out in little bags. Perfect. I won’t have to hold it for an hour. I quickly toss mine under my chair and avert my gaze, hoping if I can’t see her, she can’t see me.
As the rest of the class begins digging into their sugary, fatty, treats, I sit up a little straighter. I feel quite good about myself for not eating it.
I watch as Sarah takes a bit and chews. I feel even prouder now for being the one who didn’t eat something so unhealthy while Sarah was divulging in unhealthy food.
But the happiness and pride in myself doesn’t last. Instead, I’ve hit with overwhelming envy. If everyone else in the class can eat these treats, why can’t I? They are all going to look the same afterwards, but I’ll have gained weight and fat by tomorrow morning. It’s not fair. And Sister Palmer is right. It is my birthday. Don’t I deserve to let go and have a treat occasionally?
I inhale quickly and look down my chest to my stomach. The desire to eat dissipates and I feel a little better because I had conquered the temptation.
My teacher continues giving the lesson, and I try to pay attention, but all I can think about is that treat under my chair.
What I’m going to do with it.
How much longer until this class gets out and I can get rid of it.
Can I eat it? It is my birthday. Don’t I deserve a treat?
No, don’t eat it. You’ll feel better for not eating it. You’ll hate yourself if you give in.
In the end, I ate it because I thought that my teacher’s feelings were hurt. But a part of me know that was just an excuse and hated the rest of me even more for that.
So I didn’t eat anything at all for the next four days.
