Greedily consuming treats goes against every notion in my body. I find the act of eating something all gone simply because it is there, deplorable.
One would think that since I am the house member who was deprived of sweets and more food than the absolute minimum to keep social services at bay as a child, that I would be the one who would immediately tear a bag or a container open and gulp the contents down. Not so around here. Mr. We never went hungry a day in our life is the one that dives right in, too often for his own good, and for my intentions.
My disdain for greedily consuming treats has nothing to do with being fat, fat phobia, possibly becoming fat or failing to reduce fat, or any of the anti-fat acceptance accusations that are typically bandied about when one mentions how food should be regulated. No, the disdain has to do with the lack of reverence for particular food items. I mean no one complains when so and so claims that one must make love to a bottle of wine. The instructions are clear. The wine must be poured slowly into a glass (a specific shape of glass at that). One must leer at the wine and allow the wine to swirl around like a lost piece of driftwood floating in a calm sea. One must catch a few vapors to inhale as if it is one’s dying breath. Swirl and swirl like a diner-made milkshake. Oxygenate. Sniff the wine. Tunnel your nose into the glass. Sip the wine. Roll your eyes to the back of your head. Don’t swallow. Hold the wine on your tongue. Slosh the wine in your mouth and between your teeth. Aspirate through the wine. And so on and so on….
Sure, there are a few dissenters who declare the wine taster a pompous fraud, but not many. Most tend to want to be that pompous fraud or be in a position to model that pompous fraud. I must wonder, I must ask, why the same reverence cannot be shown to/for a cookie lover/expert, more specifically a Verona lover. Eh? Why aren’t the people who savor the essence of a Verona rightfully revered? Thus, why aren’t the people who gulp down a Verona in one bite rightfully ostracized, like the little ungrateful vultures they are acting like? What makes wine so much more worthy of respect than cookies? Who is the boss of the narrative?
Well, everyone has his or her own row to hoe, and that means me too. Culture starts with the unit at home. One must clean up his or her own back yard before looking down his or her nose at others.
Therefore, after finding one out of three recently purchased bags of Veronas completely gone Saturday morning I had to act quickly. When he first brought the Veronas into the house Friday night I should have acted then, but, knowing that it was his drinking and smoking night I did not think I had anything to worry about. I was wrong. I woke up Saturday morning to find a whole bag of Veronas empty, —gone. And, and, the empty little paper cup that previously housed five deliciously precious fruit-filled Veronas was being used as an ash tray like beer top holder.
He could not even bother to throw the empty Verona bag away either. It just stood there all empty.
One, maybe two cookies a day with a hot cup of tea or coffee could had made a bag of Veronas last me five days, maybe seven. The chance to smell, inhale, swirl, oxygenate, sniff, tunnel, sip, roll my eyes to the back of my head, taste, aspirate, slosh, and dream of poking fires and playing pianofortes, gone, gone, gone, gone! With fewer cookies left, I knew I had to take drastic action.
Over the last few years, I have bought scented jar candles for Christmas, –gingerbread, sugar cookies, apple cinnamon, etc. When the candle is gone, I wash the jar out real good and use it for other purposes. A few years ago when I was sick of finding nail clippers, tweezers and other such personal hygiene type tools lying around in drawers or on cabinets I decided to centralize them. The candle jar worked perfectly. We have been using it for some time now. Everyone knows where to find a nail clipper and to put it back when done. That jar of tools is an established fixture in our house. One day when I had nothing to put my opened fig newtons in, I used a candle jar because it had a lid. It was clean and sterilized, and never did I use that jar for the nail clippers. When I wash the nail clipper jar out (usually when I am cleaning the tools with alcohol), I make sure it goes back to its original use/home. So I was quite surprise when Mr. Glendower told me that I did not have to worry about him getting into the fig newtons (not that he would had anyway because I don’t think he likes them very much, certainly not equal to how he gulps down Veronas) as long as they are in that old candle jar because he cannot look at the fig newtons without thinking of the nail clippers and has since imagined the fig newtons loaded with toe nail clippings. So I figured the same would go for the Veronas. I put the Veronas in the candle jar Saturday morning and by Sunday night all of the Veronas were still there.
One must do what one must do.