Gluttony

God, I love to eat. To consume, to devour, whatever you call it. To eat is my true passion, my calling in life, so much so that my teeth grind together when I am not currently chewing on food as though they are practicing for the big moment.

My favorite foods? How much time do you have? There’s pizza with the cheese wet and dripping, donuts all stickiness and sugar, slurpy spaghetti crowned by tender meatballs, ice cream so cold and sweet your teeth ache, hamburgers so juicy they make your chin moist, cookies warm from the oven or frozen, doesn’t matter to me- I adore them all.

In case you haven’t noticed, my love of food, of eating food, is borderline obsessive. I am, in a way, a stalker of food. If I see a particularly plump pastry in a display, you bet I’m going to stare at it creepily, drooling all the while.

My family, my friends, they’ve all expressed their concerns, and I’ve heard them. Doesn’t mean I’ve listened to them, though. For you see, people will talk back to you, nag you, insult you, hurt you, but food knows when to shut its mouth. Food knows when to just let you enjoy.

Food has had been there for me since the beginning, and it will be there for me at the end at my very last meal. I don’t know if I can say the same about anyone or anything else.