Probably since I was old enough to have tastebuds, I have had an affinity for sweets. I’m sure it started with carrot flavored baby food, but it developed in a full-on addiction to anything with sugar. Momma would bake brownies or a cake and I would beg to lick the bowl. To no fault of my mom’s, she gladly handed over the bowl with raw eggs, flour, and, of course, sugar to her 5-year-old and let me have at it.
As I started school and rode home with Aunt Carolyn in her red Chevrolet, she would unexplainably let me out at the mini mart (my grandfather happened to own) and let me get an Icee and a little Debbie cake. I quickly learned how to bargain shop and discovered that I got 50% more if I got a Nutty Buddy or Pecan Wheels.
As I started into high school, I realized that I just couldn’t eat as much as my fellow cheerleaders and powerlifters did if I wanted to keep throwing girls in the air, lifting weights, or even fit into those dreaded khaki uniform pants.
It was not until I met JD 5 years ago that I realized I had a problem when he found me eating raw cookie dough with a spoon straight from the cookie dough roll. (I still blame momma.)
One day, he asked me how much I loved him. I simply replied…
“More than cookie dough.”
So, the best way I can describe my love for the things in my life is by letting you know I love them more than the sweets I was raised on.
Maybe not more than pizza, but that’s another blog…
More than Cookie Dough 