Losing Your Cookies
“The cookies call to me.”
Andi looked across the table at Carl. She could see his eyes flick to the cupboard where they kept the snacks. There was a fine sheen of moisture on his lips, and she thought that he was actually salivating. She was about to speak when he continued his daily confessional.
“I dreamt they were crying last night,” he said, eyes seeing the sleep scape he described, “The cookies. Horrified that I would abandon them. I think I woke crying as well. This was after the parade of bicycles with cookie tires with the coconut confetti, mind you.” He rubbed his face in his hands and chuckled in the present, his stomach growled in ill humored synchronicity. “Shut it,” he said to his groin.
“You’re doing so well, Carl,” she said, “You’ve lost twenty–”
“Eight.”
“Twenty-eight pounds now,” she continued, “And more importantly your blood sugar has been better. Manageable.”
“I bit a coaster yesterday.” That froze her. He needed to share this with her, with someone. He couldn’t talk to the cookies anymore. They were starting to talk back. “I didn’t bite through the coaster,” he said, “Though I probably could have. It was one of the green cardboard ones. I just couldn’t resist. I needed to see if the texture was…satisfying.”
“What about the rice cakes?”
“They’re less satisfying than the coaster,” he said with a smirk. They sat in silence for a time, though the cookie orchestra tuned their instruments in Carl’s mind.
“So we’ve hit a plateau, a crossroads,” Andi said, “What can we do about it?”
“I don’t know,” he replied with some exasperation, “I just need an outlet. Something to stave them off. Something that burns calories.”