I’m in an abusive relationship. No, I’m not abusing Matt, at least not physically. The relationship I’m talking about is a love affair; a forbidden affair, but one I can’t terminate no matter how much I try.
The object of my affections? Fro Yo.
For those of you not familiar with this fine establishment, they serve various flavors of frozen yogurt along with a toppings bar of every thing from gummy bears to crushed up candy bars.
You serve yourself as much frozen yogurt as you want, and then load it up with as many toppings as you want as well.
It’s basically diabetes in a cup.
How is Fro Yo abusive, you ask? He seems so sophisticated with his trendy concept and welcoming rewards card. Don’t be fooled. That’s how he gets you.
You see, Fro Yo is abusive because he knows I need him. He knows I can’t live without him. Who can, really? Well, I supposed lactose intolerant people could totally live without him. Whatever.
He’s so smooth and cool and he knows it. Not only is he aloof and confident, he’s literally smooth and cool. He’s cold, actually. He’s kind of a bad boy, and I like it.
I know what you’re thinking; is it just mind games? How is he physically abusive to you?
Um, it’s called a brain freeze. Ever had one? Pure. Pain.
And yet, I want more. I want more of the brain freeze. I want more of the headache. I want more, more, more!
It’s not all whipped cream and crushed candy bars though. There’s a dark side to Fro Yo. He requires constant attention or he pouts and has a meltdown.
He also makes me feel bad about myself. Sure, there’s the ecstasy of the time we spend together, but when it’s over, I drive home with my head hung in shame, kicking myself for being so gullible and giving in to his seductive ways.
As if I don’t feel bad enough about my overindulgence, there’s the stains he leaves on my shirt, and the indigestion he leaves in my chest that remind me of our dirty deed.
I try to hide our relationship with my husband, but I think he knows. He can smell Fro Yo when I walk in the door, and I know he can see remnants of our night together in the corner of my mouth.
Matt looks away. He doesn’t want to know.
However, despite all of the turmoil Fro Yo brings to my life, every time time he calls my name, I come running. Well, not so much running because I’m physically not capable of running.
This is yet another example of the permanent effects Fro Yo has on me. He has such a hold that he affects my joints and my (in)ability to engage in cardiovascular activities.
Why can’t I stop? Maybe Robert Palmer is right, and I’m addicted to love. I probably am. Or maybe, just maybe, I’m addicted to lactose.
Either way, I don’t care. If loving him is wrong, I don’t want to be right.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a hot date with a cool guy….