How do I say no to somebody who sincerely offers something that I know is bad?

No, this is not a solvent–sniffing kind of a dilemma or a kill–someone–for–me kind of a deal. This is, as you all know by now, about food.

I am aware that, in all honesty, that somebody, a woman I’m going to call Lady in Red, does not know that the item she gives out can kill me or her or the entire population in the long run. She is a very kind and generous person–a saint trapped in this wicked earth– a well-respected citizen and a very talented and skillful human being. However, she is not health conscious.

Every time I see her, she always hands me a bar of Baby Ruth. She is giddy and glad when she gives me those sweet nothings.

Growing up, I loved Baby Ruth, and she knows it that’s why she gives me those to make me happy. But I am a grown human being now, yet somehow, she thinks I still party with that candy.

The last time I remember eating Baby Ruth was when boys like me still had Alyssa Milano in the category of Babe To Be Imagined.

I am in a conundrum. A problem that even high-minded physicists would find more difficulty in solving than the problem of Dark Energy.

What am I going to do with the Baby Ruth bars that I have amassed in my fridge?

I can’t throw them away. I can’t give them away to kids on Trick or Treat Night. I can’t share it with anyone and more so, obviously, I can’t eat them. Why? Because I know it is bad.

If I do any of these options either guilt or diabetes will cause my demise.

But if I don’t do anything, Baby Ruth will eat my fridge and I would have no more space to even cool a slice of lemon.

What should I do? I don’t want to hurt Lady in Red’s feelings by asking her to stop. What’s the best way to handle this?

As I write this blog, Sheryl Mae, with arms folded, and deep in thought, is looking inside the fridge like Edwin Hubble peeping into a Black Hole.

Help!

PS: I am investigating Organic TV dinners and will post something about it tomorrow.

I mean, seriously, how could a heavily preserved and frozen packaged meal be called organic?

The place was festive as usual. Bright colored balloons hovered overhead and kids played around with reckless abandon–tumbling on trampolines, throwing light rubber balls, shrieking with unfathomable delight and gliding down a big plastic tube slide. It was a wonderland in a restaurant–Heaven on earth.

Amid the happy chaos and happy meals, there I was, all grown up, jumping for joy with a balloon tied on my left wrist and a juicy, aromatic triple decker burger with cheese and mayo in my right hand. I gave the signature burger one hard stare and attacked with full rigor and sincerity. When I emerged from my purposeful first bite on that greasy treasure of a sandwich, my face was decorated by colorful condiments of yellow, red, and white like I was a citizen of the United Colors of Benneton.

And oh, that first bite! As my teeth sank into that multi-layered food, the 100% all-beef patty gave a cute little resistance like a young girl playing hard to get. When it gave in, it exploded with all the goodness only a legendary fast food item could provide. It was delicious.

But that’s not all. There was another set of combo moves that could top that first bite experience. Expert fast food regulars like me referred to this as the Sick Choke Combo.

Let me explain.

The idea was to eat the burger and the French fries in alternating modes. Take a bite on the burger, and then stuff a handful of fries in your mouth. This would go on until the burger and the fries were no more– and there was no drinking–yet.

To complete this combo, you had to push the stagnant food in your mouth and throat down to your tummy with the ice-cold sugary innovation of man that is called soda. Regular Coke was the hardcore choice, of course. And then, as the food slowly traveled down your esophagus, a spoonful of hot fudge sundae would seal the deal. In today’s lingo: FTW!

We admired fellow junkies who could accomplish this combo with style. One favorite of mine, a friend named Toto, grooved to the complex rhythms of Antonio Carlos Jobim’s One Note Samba while performing the trick. Really smooth!

There was nothing better than this for us fast food junkies.

You see, even back then, I adored food–in a wrong kind of way. Not to mention that the food I romanced then is now universally known as junk. I could be in denial about this for as long as I can– or until my first stroke or my first symptoms of blindness due to diabetes. I knew all along that what I was putting in my body were unhealthy. But I could not accept it. I was like loving the wrong girl for all the wrong reasons.

Now I am taking steps to accept this truth and change my lifestyle. That is why I am posting these stories out to the vast cyber universe– to remind me where I was and where I am going.

If I don’t remind myself, heaven help me, I am scared I might  go full circle and live the fast food junkie’s life all over again.