Nestled beside my bath tub and the bathroom wall, I felt like a traitor.
My Momma raised me better than this, I thought to myself. I was a phony, a fraud, a fake.
But strangely, I didn’t care. I was doing it because I wanted to, regardless of how I would be judged or what my husband Jason would even think of me.
I was being selfish to the core. And, deep down, I loved it.
A sinister grin covered my face as I stared down at the treasure in my hands. Sealed tightly in a cellophane plastic wrapping, I was giddy with the excitement that what was held inside would take me to ecstasy. It would be my own personal journey into excitement.
I slowly peeled the wrapper apart, careful not to make too much noise. And then…
I shoved the Little Debbie snack into my mouth as fast as I could. The fudge crumbs avalanched down my face. Sure, I could have used a glass of milk to coax the sweet treat down. But there was no time for that.
I knew they would be coming. They are like bloodhounds, on to my scent just like an escaped prisoner.
Did they hear the crackling of the wrapper?
Could they smell the sweet aroma of the delicious treat that Little Debbie had lovingly prepared?
Could they hear my jaw clinching with each gulp?
Suddenly…the sound of feet came running toward the bathroom. They were on to me, and they were coming at me like a pack of zombies in one of those cheap horror movies.
The door knob rattled. The wooden door was flung open. The silhouettes of my two youngest children appeared in the frame, only highlighted by the setting sun in the window behind them.
Only moments before I jumped up to appear as if I was hovering over the bathroom sink.
“I am using the bathroom,” I said, half choking on the dry sweet cake that was halfway lodged down my throat. “Go on now.”
As if in slow motion, the kids shut the bathroom door…peering with their beady eyeballs through the crack until it was finally closed.
The moment of ecstasy was gone. All that remained of the snack was a crumbed-up piece of plastic wrapper paper. And I was alone, looking in the mirror at a face covered with shame and chocolate.
It’s really come to this, I thought to myself as I wiped my face with a wet wash cloth.
I exited the bathroom, looking down to avoid direct eye contact.
I made my way into the kitchen where my oldest son James was sitting at the kitchen table with a glass of milk. Maybe it was my guilt, but he almost appeared like one of those investigators in the police dramas, armed with a drink and a list of questions.
“What were you doing in there,” James asked.
How dare he, I thought to myself. He knows what secret I was hiding, and now he was attempting to interrogate me. This same teenager who sneaks into our kitchen pantry at night and consumes just about every snack, leaving only empty boxes and a trail of wrappers back to his bedroom. The midnight culprit has the nerve to question my actions?
I eased into my recliner, grabbed the television remote and began to settle down from a high-energy snack. That Little Debbie snack only took five seconds to gulp down.
My daughter Elsie walked past the living room, only smiling.
She knows, I thought.
The youngest son Jase approached my recliner. He didn’t use sneaky techniques, no hard questions. But he had those puppy-dog eyes.
“Momma,” he whimpered. “Can you find me a snack? Those little chocolate cakes are all gone.”
Guilt, sheer guilt.
“Yeah, and somebody left the empty box in the pantry,” James said, emerging from the other room.
Traitor, I thought to myself.
I made my way to the kitchen, and I thankfully did manage to find a few fruit snacks and Pop Tarts to hand out for their snacks.
They probably know my little scheme.
James is old enough to know. Elsie perhaps is in denial. And little Jase is still much too innocent to believe his own mother would steal a snack.
The day came to an end with supper cooked, faces cleaned and teeth brushed. But as I made my way to the bedroom, I thought I heard someone in the bathroom.
And yes…is that plastic ripping open?
“James,” I asked, standing outside the door. “What are you doing?”
“Can’t I go to the bathroom in peace,” he replied.
I just hope he doesn’t get any crumbs on the floor. That causes ants, I thought to myself as I huddled under my bed sheet with a Pop Tart.
