When I'm alone in the apartment, it taunts me.
Let's call it my "Nut Butter Problem." It's the reason I prefer not to keep peanut butter or Nutella in the house, and it's the reason why when I lived with Andrea I had to replace her jar of Skippy about, oh, 27 times? And if we're honest, I probably had to replace it 28 or 29, but just forgot.
I should have just bought my own (And while I was at it, bought Jif--for real, Andrea? Skippy? Do you not like smooth, slow-roasted nuts? Do you prefer blandess?)
For better or worse, I've never had the opportunity to live alone. College roommates, then suitemates, then housemates, then apartmentmates, and now a fiance have kept home with me, which I really don't mind. As much of a homebody as I am, it has always given me comfort to know that someone is in the next room on the computer or watching TV while I'm in my own room doing whatever it is I do (watching Law and Order: SVU or reading my RSS Feed. That's about all the goes on.)
But even with roommates, there are always those nights when I'm the only one home. I always feel slightly free, like mom and dad are gone and I have the place to myself, man. And what does a free woman do when there's no one around to judge her actions? A bottle of wine, maybe? An entire Lucali's pizza? A tube of raw cookie dough? (Ooh! THAT'S a fun idea!)
All tempting, but no. She eats half a jar of nutella or peanut butter, that's what! God help me, I can't help but refer to Sex and the City; do forgive me. This is SO my Secret Single Behavior.
It always happens. I'll have eaten my dinner (in tonight's case, a chicken, avocado, tomato, and chickpea salad with toast) and usually some dessert (a s'more made with s'more fixins left here by Alison--a favor bag she got at a wedding a few weekends ago. Cute, no?), and then I sprawl on the couch to watch some Olivia Benson and Stabler action and then I feel that pull. Cabinet, cabinet, it's in the cabinet. And then I sternly tell myself that I am not hungry and do not want any peanut butter or Nutella.
Well...just a spoonful would be fine, right? I'll just sneak a wee little spoonful.
The next thing I know I'm in the fetal position on the couch in a ball of nut butter shame and stomach pain, half a bottle of something or other is gone, and I'm wailing, "Why can I not stay away?"
Smoothy, rich, nutty butter is my crack, snuck in spoonfuls when I'm positive no one can come home to catch me. And tonight, I have had my fix. 12 days and, oh, 3 jars until Jeff comes back to town?