Summertime HaliSnax: A sweet hell.
Summer is made of sugar.
I’m the kind of person who doesn’t buy certain things. My general rule of thumb is that if I can make it myself, then I don’t bother buying it. It’s a little complicated as to why I do that.
Part of it is that I like to make things on my own. I like to learn how things are made and what makes them special or unique or tasty. Then there is the part where I actually like making things. Like cakes and cookies and ice creams and sorbets. Another part is that I generally tend to prefer the taste of those things over the packaged and processed goodies, and that I’d rather know what is going into my body, rather than try and figure out an ingredient list of chemicals.
But there is another reason for all of this. The guilty, self-effacing reasons.
My boyfriend decided to buy packaged pre-made pudding. I don’t buy it. I tell him we can make it. He wants it there for the convenience of it all, to take with him to work. I acquiesce. Yeah, well, he didn’t eat many of them. Maybe two. I ate the rest.
You see, if there are cookies or cakes or ice cream in the house, I will fucking devour them. All of them. Trust me on this. So if I don’t buy it, I won’t eat it. And if I make it, half the time I end up eating the base ingredients of the soon-to-be-made cookies/ice cream/cake/etc, soothing my craving early on, leaving me wanting less. And when the item in question is done, I also often send portions of the finished product away with people, siblings, friends, etc.
It’s like I’m trying to exercise self-control by removing any reason for it to cave in. No, it’s not like that, that’s what I’m doing.
But then summer happens. And it gets hot. And you get nostalgic.
You want that childhood flavour of ice cream. You want to eat oodles of Moon Mist and ridiculously named flavours. You want frozen treats made out of sugar water. Soon there are plastic wrappers and small wooden sticks laid out all over the place. You convince yourself that you eat these things because you want to beat the heat. You make excuses for the sugar high you’re experiencing, even when it keeps you up at night because it’s so hot out you have something cold to soothe yourself. Fifteen minutes before you go to bed. Mmhmm. Sugar-induced insomnia is a real thing people. At least in my house.
Your significant other/roomate/parent/etc start to grumble about how there are tiny sticky puddles on the floor and on the furniture. There are a lot of fellatio jokes going around because you’d rather put the whole popsicle in your mouth and suck on it than bite down. You want to savour that phallic shaped object. Even straight men do this, quietly, when no one is watching. No popsicle homo.
Your freezer looks like you have a hoard of sugar-starved children living in your house, even though you’re only two people and there’s no way in hell you’ll procreate. Oh, but this is a hell you’ve created for yourself. Hell has frozen over, and it taste likes watermelon flavoured sugar water.