The Tree of Knowledge

I am now on an all cookie diet.

For breakfast, I add a scoop of ice cream on top of my waffles and extra syrup. I eat second helpings of everything, especially the all beef breakfast sausage.

I snack on half a dozen cookies and graciously volunteer to help Rebecca with her baking. I lick the brownie batter from the bowl. I pop handfuls of chocolate chips in my mouth. When she’s not looking, I choke down a stick of butter.

For lunch, I sneak a full half gallon of vanilla ice cream and a jar of hot fudge into my room. I eat the whole thing, then spend an hour or so trying not to puke.

By day six, I’ve added a dozen cookies to my usual ice cream lunch and don’t even feel sick any more.

I eat extra helpings at dinner too. Make a grab for the biggest piece of pie at dessert.

I sneak down to the refrigerator at midnight and eat an entire wheel of brie.

By day two, Rebecca notices how much I’m eating. Her knowing looks and not so subtle references seem to indicate that she thinks I’m pregnant. I do nothing to confirm or deny this suspicion. Rebecca starting baking extra cookies, just for me. She buys me jars of Nutella. Jugs of whole milk.

By day twenty-five, I’ve gained almost thirty pounds.

And on day twenty-six, Ryan comes home with a shiny new bicycle, just for me.