It's Dangerous in Thar

I do not get my brain. I joke about it "being dangerous in thar", but, in reality, it is a little bit treacherous.

Yesterday, Jeff came in from cleaning the carport. (He was going through the piles of junk I had been accumulating. One major contributor to the junk: In August, I purchased a HUGE box of miscellaneous office stuff at an auction... kind of a mystery package full of God only knows what. Like space heaters with cords that had been cut off, cheap plastic fans, and some really cool models of molecules made by scientists at the Oak Ridge National Lab that made the whole purchase a coupe.) Back to Jeff: "Hey Mom, here's something you can give to somebody for Christmas... somebody you don't like." It was a huge tin full of individually wrapped chocolate chip cookies. Now, seeing how I bought this at an auction in August, after it had sat in somebody's office since at least the previous Christmas (maybe more), and it had sat on my blistering hot carport for August and then into freezing weather this winter, it makes sense that one wouldn't be too tempted by those cookies.

Ummm. That would make sense. But that's where my brain gets tricky. That tin of cookies sat across from my computer the rest of the day, and, I kid you not, I got grouchier and grouchier and grouchier. Those damn cookies, those damn inedible, nasty, gnarly cookies sang to me. I was seriously tempted to eat them. Not one of them. THEM. All 30 or 40. WHAT THE HECK??? We are talking cookies that quite possibly were bacteriologically unfit to eat. Hard as rocks. And I wanted them.

How many things in my life are like that... things that I KNOW are c-r-a-z-y bad for me, yet, I indulge anyway because I want them... just because I want them?

This sad little tale does end on a happy note: I asked Jeff to dive-bomb the tin into the garbage. (Hmmm. I wonder if there's still time to retrieve it before the garbage pick-up?)