Guilty Pleasures

We all have them. Those things that make us feel good that we know are all bad or that we are embarrassed to admit make us feel good. Grown-up contraband. Foodie faux pas. Kraft Mac and Cheese. Velveeta. Cheese Doodles. Anything fluorescent orange for that matter. For me, it is Funyuns. I [heart] Funyuns. But maybe your GP is sweet instead of salty. Twinkies. Ho-hos. Baked goods with shelf-lives longer than some marriages.

Not meant to be shared, we indulge in private, to eliminate the risk of having to be polite and ask, “Want one?,” only to have the person say "sure," as you grumble and groan on the inside. Or maybe it’s the sheer decadence of it, a day’s worth of calories in a single sandwich, the condiments alone capable of clogging an artery, which makes people reluctant to go public, eating instead in the cramped quarters of their cars. Or the meticulousness with which one approaches and enjoys a GP that prefers privacy. That bordering-on-OCD way you eat the chocolate around the peanut butter cup first and then try to disrobe the top and bottom, too, so that all that remains is a peanut butter nugget. Or the fact that you still haven’t grown out of the desire to pull the Oreo apart, lick the “frosting”, then dip the cookies in milk that’s not appropriate cafeteria behavior.

Maybe your guilty pleasure has nothing to do with food, hard as that is for me to imagine. Whatever it is, I encourage you to enjoy your guilty pleasure. Indulge the cookie-dipper child inside you, or the junk food junky that lurks in your new mid-life Health Nut. Take time to let the blanket-loving couch potato out of your tied-tight, A-type persona. Turn your ringer off and take a nap. Give your Neat Freak the day off and leave clothes on the floor and dirty dishes in the sink.

Enjoy life. [Heart] your guilty pleasures, whatever they might be.