Sugar Whore

whore

     Paul Fussell wrote a book titled Class: A Guide Through The American Status System.  In it he discusses three broad classes in the United States: upper class, middle class, and prole. He humorously dissects and compares the attributes, properties, and proclivities of each. 

Class Determinants

     According to Fussell one of his class determinants is the wearing of clothes. It’s not only about what we wear but how we wear them.  He believes that if a person wears something that can be read, they’re not a member of the upper class. If it’s a name or a label, they are probably middle class. And if it’s a message (on a t-shirt for example), they are definitely prole. 

     Well, we evidently are a nation of proles because t-shirts and t-shirt shops abound.  While some messages are tribal, others are often very personal.  Some of my recent sightings have been “I Choose Life,” “Think Green,” “Eat Sleep Hunt,” “Born To Sail,” “Fashion Maniac,” “Bipolar Princess,” and “TXT Queen.”  Now, if I were to fashion a t-shirt specifically communicating to everyone how I personally view myself, I think it would read “Sugar Whore.”

It May Be An Addiction, But It’s My Addiction

     I continually crave sugar.  ‘Always have, and that’s one of the reasons I love Christmas. Sweets are everywhere, and there’s always someone offering sone to you. Even if you refuse, they will come back with, “Oh, go ahead. It’s Christmas.” Well, at the time this always makes perfect sense to me, so I gratefully accept it and gobble it down. 

     Christmas aside, there are times during the rest of the year when I simply have to have a sugary treat.  I’ve learned to control it somewhat over the years. I no longer eat several pieces of cake, whole pies, or bags full of pastries in one sitting.  I’m more into morsels now.  I will eat a couple of squares of chocolates or several soft chews to try to satisfy my habit. 

The Shame Of It All

     But once in a while I have to go big, and the excuses to do so can get pretty flimsy.  I seem to be most vulnerable in the morning hours, so when I think I deserve a treat, my car will turn into Daylight Donuts (almost as if it has a mind of its own), and I will purchase my usual cinnamon roll and frosted applesauce cake donut.  In a crazed frenzy I will devour these in a matter of minutes, cutting each bit of gooey goodness with sips of black coffee. 

     When I’m done I’ll sit there among the crumbs, pieces of sugary glaze, dirty napkins, and spent wrappers, feeling dejected with that post-sugar-OD sensation.  Then the self-loathing will start.  I’ll feel guilty and cheap, like I’d been had, and I will think to myself, “Sugar has once again seduced you, used you, and had its way with you.  You are such a whore.”

whore

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