Eating Yourself To Eternity

Even before the spoon had dropped drunkenly from his slippery mitts into the dirty kitchen sink, he knew he had had more than enough. More than his fair share; certainly more than he needed.

One half gallon of premium, all natural, farm fresh butter pecan ice cream eaten right out of the carton with a too-small cereal spoon in one setting is simply too much. Even for Evan, who made these nightly binges a regular part of his sedentary, solitary lifestyle.

After the long, hot, packed Path Train ride under the Hudson River from the City; after a dull day full of daydreaming and internet surfing in his grey fabric New York New Media cubicle; after another 12 hours enduring orders from officious idiots, Evan rushed home to the solace of his worn leather sofa. With a remote in one hand and his water pipe in the other, flipping channels in between puffs, Evan eventually worked up an appetite for frozen pizza, Mrs. Paul’s and, of course, Haagen-Daz.

No store brand would do. If you are going to indulge, go all out. And so his weekly trips to the Pathmark always included a stroll down the freezer aisle. And now that the last goopy, sloppy spoonful has passed his sticky lips, Evan knew that he had had, well, more than enough.

Nothing left to do now but let the metallic ring bring the episode to a close. A quick rinse of the face, a bloated belly flop into bed, and now the stupor of slumber: letting the full feel of the lactose load gently rock him off to sleep.


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