There it was. In all its glory. Its hot, steamy, buttery glory. A sloppy stack of freshly made waffles, crisp from the iron, dripping in butter and syrup, smelling of a hundred perfect mornings. The waiter disappeared before she could correct the mistake. Now it was here. She could consume this mountain of magic in a few quick minutes. No evidence of the crime. She could. She could. And she desperately wanted to.
The only trouble was today was January 5th. The official start of her 2017 diet. #Beachbod and #bestyearyet and all that. She already announced to all her friends what she was doing. Out of desperation for accountability, she even joined a fitness group on a website run by two skinny, tan girls who inspired their fans by posting outrageously flattering photos of themselves working out on the beach, sporting their branded tankinis and water bottles and sweatbands. Her gym membership was renewed for the year. The healthiest of the whole foods added to her shopping list. The December 2017 victory dress purchased. Nothing was going to stop her.
Yes, that may have been exactly what she told herself the evening of January 5th, 2016, the evening that started off incredibly well (with a pile of raw spinach and a puck of flavorless steamed chicken) and ended less well (single-handedly polishing off a bottle of wine and a small box of See’s chocolates gifted to her a few days prior). But this year was going to be different. This year she would succeed.
The offensive mass of carbs, fats, refined sugars, and momentum-killers loomed before her. She swore she ordered an egg white and tomato omelette, the most innocuous thing she could think of. How did this happen? How did this gorgeous monstrosity end up practically in her lap?
Despite herself, her eyes were already devouring it, its golden, glistening edges as repulsive as a freshly-showered Chris Hemsworth offering to wash the dishes. Just looking did no harm, right? She could fantasize about the butter and syrup pooling perfectly in each little square, and still enjoy her egg white omelette. It was no harm to only think of the perfect lightness of each bite fulfilled by the sweet and salty concerto that lavished her tongue – while she still made good choices. She could. She would. She would. She had the will power.
The waiter returned to find her gripping the table, breathing heavily, eyes boring into the devilishly good-looking waffles.
“Sorry, ma’am, we had a little mix-up. Here’s your egg white omelette.”
She looked to the plate as he set it down. The melancholy rubber flab of discolored egg whites appeared small on the thick plate. The plate was made for so much more. She was made for so much more.
The waiter moved to remove the precious tower of waffles.
“No-” she placed her hand on his. “Leave them.”
Without another word, he left her alone with her destiny.
To eat. To enjoy. To be free.
At least until January 5th, 2018.
via Daily Prompt: Tempted