It happens once a year. I make my nemesis.
My addiction for a day.
My buttery, corn syrupy, brown sugary, molassesy (is that a word?) confection.
Ah, yes, it is my love. It is what makes my legs squish out more when I sit down. It is what makes my belly hang over my belt with more abandon. It is what makes my face look like Alvin the Chipmunk. It is what makes the butt part of my jeans fit a little bit tighter. It is...
I look forward to this treat all year. I throw all my health food crazed notions to the wind on this day, and I indulge with a capital "I". Yes, people, I am an addict of crunchy carmel crazed goodness.
I have a great recipe and I'm not afraid to use it. At any other time of the year I would laugh hysterically if you asked me to consume even a fourth of what I ate today. I would scoff at the notion that corn syrup - alas, even the high fructose variety - would enter my body. And the butter, oh, the butter. I am not afraid of the vast amounts of butter on carmel corn day. I laugh at it in the face as I unpeel four cubes of the greasy stuff to put on the stove to melt into oblivion in my delicious concoction.
I'm good like that - er, actually BAD like that.
I'll pay for it tomorrow, and the next day, and when I want to wear my skinny jeans, and especially when I get the courage to step on to the bathroom scales. BUT...I'll run harder, longer, I'll work out with more gusto, and I'll have amazing memories knowing that I had a day full of bliss with my beloved carmel corn confection.