The Greatest Cookie Alive Is Vegan, And In My Bed
And there was I.
At it again.
How, oh how, did I get here?
Huddled, cuddled under the covers, I was virtually guiltless in my crumb-stained, makeshift pajamas –– a formerly white-tee and basketball shorts. I’d lost complete control. It was 2:37 AM. I was drowning in a wanted harassment of devilishment.
On this late and carnal night, there was no beautiful woman embedded in my sleeping place. But as one of my former pillow-mates describes it, the ‘House of Sin” was still open for business. I lie defeated on the hard and stony ground of rock-bottom again. And I wanted nothing to do with anyone’s redemption sermon. I was destroying myself and I loved it.
Mood: Let he who is with or without sin say W-(eva)-TF they want. If I die right here in this bed tonight, it was all worth it people!
I flipped a middle-fingered salute at all of the judgmental angels sighing on the perch of my crumb-stained shoulder. You know you want it. Bite me. In defiance, I intentionally slowed my indulgent sinning to two-frames per second with as much dramatic tension as I could, just so they could watch. My eyelids slowwwwly slammed themselves shut with maximum unhurried-ness, and with lashes folding over one another like the clasped hands of a praying choir boy. Father don’t forgive me yet, cause I ain’t friggin done yet.
I then extra-slowly paused the chewing motion in the gaze of my witnesses, locking my jaw, letting the sweet goo melt into the pores of my enthralled palate. The crystals of organic milled cane disintegrated like freshly fallen snow –– into hot, syrupy, chocolaty, welcoming saliva. That sweet, buttery, non-buttered goodness that only some provident evil could conjure was in control. The roofing of my mouth, glued to a cookie covered tongue, finally broke free and sensually muttered, “How the fuuuuux am I a puppet of this heavenly sin again?! Help me! But no, don’t. Pls don’t.“
Uncle Eddie’s vegan cookies are something hardcore drug fiends should never try. They'd better stick to those junior addictions, not this one. Their problems would increase exponentially and leave their lives shattered –– and meaningless. I only speak of what I know.
Years ago I’ve found myself, anxiously loitering in the cookie aisles of random Whole Foods, waiting for scheduled truck deliveries. Yes, me. Yeah, that happened. Several times. Okay, more than several. Judge me if you like, but…
I wasn’t alone in those aisles. I stood there with many other fiends –– sugary circles around their sunken, but eager eyes. They knew the delivery times too. Their breaths wreaked of cookie. They knew which flavors sold out first and at which Whole Foods locations. My thorough reconnaissance wasn’t an anomaly, I sadly found.
One lady waiting with me was a famous sitcom actress. We chatted, sharing our various Uncle Eddie’s Cookies stories. But I knew what she was up to. And she knew what I was up to. Fiends no fiend-thinking.
Admittedly, I was trying to skillfully keep her distracted so I could get first-grabs when the delivery guy popped open that Uncle Eddie's shipment box. She was trying to return the discombobulating favor. But a pretty face, a primetime slot, and a SAG-card meant nothing to me. Our friendly banter suddenly turned chilly. We positioned ourselves. He’d arrived.
I was ashamed at who I’d become... driving all over L.A., showing up at different area Whole Foods, climbing and digging deep into the shelving, elbow-deep, looking for Peanut-Butter & Chocolate Chip...
Sigh…
Okay, so. Listen. We all have a past. During those Uncle Eddie’s years, I was ashamed at who I’d become. The temper-tantrums I’d have, driving all over L.A., showing up at different area Whole Foods, climbing and digging deep into the shelving, elbow-deep, looking for Peanut-Butter & Chocolate Chip –– at the bottoms and the very top shelves. Sold-out again? Bastards.
When I started eating entire bags-and-a-half at a sitting, I knew I had to find my center again. This cookie would not own me anymore. I declared it. No cookie was going to beat me down to a Pavlovian cliche'. Amazingly, I quit cold-turkey. And for some years, it was over. I owned myself again. My tee-shirts were white again. My sheets were crumb-less. I was free. Until…
Fast-forward to couple of weeks ago: I’d been clean and Uncle-Eddie’s-free for three-years, plus. I’d conqured my addiction. I could walk down the cookie aisle and pass my old excommunicated uncle with ease. We weren’t speaking anymore. Not on holidays, not ever. Then it happened.
I shouldn’t have done that. Retrospectively, I really, really, really shouldn’t have done that.
I wanted to gift a close friend, who was veganizing her diet, with some kind of vegan treat so amazing she’d never forget it. I knew she had a lot of will-power and nothing would become a problem. Not with just one taste. I knew she’d be okay. Right? Besides, I knew she didn’t particularly like sweets, as I didn’t and don’t. This Uncle Eddie's gift would simply be for one moment of celebration. So I casually bought a bag of the Chocolate-Chip and Walnut for her. No harm, no foul. I was showing her that she could have something decadent tasting that was way, way much healthier than the average –– and without all of the side-effects and gunky ingredients.
However...
I shouldn’t have done that. Retrospectively, I really, really, really shouldn’t have done that.
Chocolate-Chip and Walnut was a flavor I had not tried all those years back. And I had to know what I was gifting. Right?
I tried it.
And I tried it, again.
It was eeeeeverything.
And now I’m nothing again.
A spine-less puppet.
Two-weeks later we rushed over to the Whole Foods, at closing, playfully digging through the Uncle Eddie's inventory, toying with the idea of buying some. Play turned to seriousness. Cookies were purchased. I took some home.
It’s 3 AM.
An empty bag lies disrespectfully discarded on the floor, at the side of my bed. My tee-shirt is stained. Very. I can only tell because of the light of my smartphone, beneath the covers. I’m googling for support groups. There are none.
I'm googling delivery times.
Hell hath no heaven, like an Uncle Eddie’s vegan cookie.
A D V E R T I S E M E N T
