The siren call of the Scotcheroo

As fraught with danger as Theseus's perilous journey through the Minotaur maze, I battled my way through the gamut of Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year galas; getting clubbed with calories at every turn. Gorging on gallons of gravy. A monstrous amount of mashed potatoes. Shovel-fulls of sugar. To even risk a quick glance at a holiday treat was to add more leaden weight to my petrified posterior. 

January 3rd signified my re-set. I ventured forth, clinging cautiously to the cliff-face of calorie restriction, avoiding the snapping jaws of Scylla and the whirling waves of Charybdis as they lurked in locations that I couldn't avoid; namely, the school office and faculty room. I would make up reasons to visit my friends, Joanne and Val, entertaining them with stories of my odyssey so I could subtly slip by them to score a golden-wrapped Rolo. On Friday, I was faced with boxes of assorted chocolates ("Strawberry cream!" I squealed.) and baked cookies the size of my skull. I'm only one woman, people.

And then...the dreaded faculty luncheons. My classroom is 15 feet away from this perilous pit of the underworld. The scent was intoxicating...maddening. I watched plates, laden with ambrosia, float before me. I admit it...I ran away. Lunch-time found me walking laps around the school...walking...like I was some sort of exerciser. Ugh.

I thought I'd made it...triumphantly...through the maze when my friend, Diane...my slender, fit, poised and perfect friend Diane, stopped to commiserate with me about the struggle. I think she was being serious. Although her next word led me to believe that she was an agent of sabotage...a word that would prove to be my undoing. Wars have been fought...relationships ruined...economies dissolved because of this word. Scotcheroo.

Scotcheroo.

Who could resist? My knees nearly buckled realizing that I was a mere fifteen feet from utter delight. I crept closer to the forbidden door. I knew that even one peek could cause chaos and disaster. Another friend happened by, her fiery hair belying her kind and gentle nature. "How can I help?" she asked softly, sensing that I was in a culinary crisis. "There are Scotcheroos in there," I whispered hoarsely. Carrie nodded, torn between not wanting to enable but also not wanting to torture. "Do you want me to get you one?" she inquired carefully, worried whether she was more meth dealer or angel of mercy in this scenario. "Just a small one," I gasped, barely hanging on. Turns out, it was a gateway goodie...one bite and I stormed the castle and plundered the entire plate of Scotcheroos. 

I'm so weak.

I thought I could settle for just one Scotcheroo. 

I was myth-taken.