Sweet Surrender

I had forgotten the hangover. I woke up twice in the middle of the night, heart and mind racing. I finally gave up trying to stay asleep after six thirty chimed on the living room clock. How long had it been since I had a night like that? Weeks. Months. Since Valentines Day, when I gave up dessert.
Like so many lifestyle decisions, it came to me all at once. Now that I will officially be pushing fifty over the metaphorical hill, it seemed like a good experiment. How hard would it be to simply eliminate all the cookies and candy from my diet? These were the "May-Do's" in my diet. In spite of evidence to the contrary, Oreos are not a staple. Yet, somehow, at the end of every business day, I seemed to find myself lining up some nice little confection or two with the rationale that somehow I deserved it. When I heard my son echoing these sentiments for his own nutritional requirements, it made me think: What have I done to deserve this fistful of chocolate covered almonds?
Valentines Day this year was another flurry of sugary treats. My wife, who knows my druthers, provided me various permutations of chocolate, including my very own half-pound bag of peanut M&Ms. When our dog found said bag and devoured them in a pique, there was a lot of discussion about how we might go about replacing the missing dessert. That's when I suggested that maybe it wouldn't be immediately necessary. And the days became weeks. The weeks became months. I watched as my son's birthday party with mint-chocolate ice cream cake came and went. By then I had only a slight regret, but I knew that all that frozen goodness would find a home. The only times I felt the urge to snack outside my prescribed fruit, nut and Power Bar limitations were when I was left alone and the impulse came to me to fill the void with something from Hostess. I suppose the fact that I allowed myself to continue drinking Coca-Cola helped me from becoming hypoglycemic and for the record, I never succumbed. Until last Friday night.
Friends arrived to celebrate birthdays, including mine. They brought pizza and salad to feed a platoon, and the nine of us did what we could, but there were still mountains of leftovers. And a cake. A great big, dark, thick, moist, delicious chocolate cake. And as is customary around this time of year, it even had my name on it. How could I resist?
I had a medium sized piece. I skipped the whipped cream to concentrate on the frosting. Then, just as soon as it began, it was over. Or was it? We turned on the Beatles Rock Band and sang along until nearly midnight. I felt surprisingly energetic. It was all fun and games until I woke up at three in the morning in a cold sweat. And again at five. I was woefully out of shape. Drinking a couple of Cokes and eating a piece of chocolate cake shape, that is.
So I don't know if I will be getting back on the regular dessert train anytime soon. I like the sixteen pounds I have left behind, and sleeping through the night. But I know that learning to be flexible is also part of the plan. As my piano teacher taught me, "Every Good Boy Deserves Fudge."