The Mean and not so lean Eating Machine

I’m on the prowl. The scent of fat and sugar is intoxicating. I close my eyes and sniff. There are no hints or clues other than the imaginary goody bag that I believe will materialise if I just unlock the correct cabinet door in the kitchen. There must be some fatty food here. I distinctly remember that Spidey and Matt brought some bad food home before I fell ill. They promised to eat it all or throw it out, but boys always lie.

Move out of my way! I’m on a mission and I must succeed. Otherwise I’ll lose my mind. I need crunchy sugar between my teeth. I crave the sugar rush so that I have a spurt of energy to dance around the living room, singing to bad music, forgetting lyrics and clapping my hands high up in the air as if I were attending the greatest concert ever. Or watching a kicking DJ doing his thang and screaming into a mike: come on everybody. Or whatever a DJ screams into a microphone.

I feel like a tank. A military vehicle that is constructed to crush all obstacles until it detects the target – and to devour the target before the enemy ambush. All I have found so far is:

Rice
Vinegar
Plates, cups, glasses
Oven mitts
A broken record player

It’s ten minutes to closing time and I get my shoes on, fetch my bike keys (that’s right, it’s a kick ass bike with two locks – and you can call it von Backhaus) and storm out of the door. I run down the stairs – the lift is too slow for this mission. My lungs are still on the fourth floor when I run out of the front door and unlock my lover. Wallet – check. Two bags for the goodies – check. And I’m off, zooming by playing kids, old women with zimmer frames (out of my way, bitches), young men smoking and looking pretentious and cool, Arab kids screaming Jalla after me (Arab for f*ck off, apparently). Tires screech and I run into the store and grab everything with sugar and fat.

Chocolate, caramel, nougat, crisps, chips, popcorn (deeelish hot from the microwave oven), cookie dough ice-cream, cakes covered with chips of coconut and chocolate. To wash it all down: cola. And this time it’s not a light version.

After two hours in the armchair with the telly showing some lame sitcoms I’m full. And most of the stash is gone. I feel slightly nauseous. What happened?

Matt: Have you seen my cell?
FridayNext: No.
Matt: It was here on the kitchen counter. I’m sure of it.
FridayNext: Really?
Matt: Mmm. Perhaps it’s in my jacket…
FridayNext: Perhaps.
Matt: No. Well, I’m running late so I better…
FridayNext: Where are you going?
Matt: Oh…just…going out with…ChessBoy.
FridayNext: Are you treating him to something nice?
Matt: What?
FridayNext: He just had his birthday. Isn’t that why you’re taking him out?
Matt: Right! Sure it is. Where is my head, ha ha.
FridayNext: Yeah, ha ha. See you tonight.
Matt: Yeah, see you tonight, sweetness.

The minute he’s out of the door, I pull out his cell from my pocket. I check his incoming texts again.

MumNextText: Looking forward to seeing you again, Matty. Hugs from Mummy.