Dear Mr. Melissa Blake:
Have you ever seen this baby photo of me, Sweetpea? As is usually the case with me, I’m not as innocent as I look. I found this photo the other day, and slowly, all the puzzle pieces came together. This was the beginning of it all, I decided.
I have a secret, Sweetpea. an intense, shameful secret. I’ve tried to hold it in. I’ve tried to get off the stuff. I’ve tried going cold-turkey. I’ve even tried to will my brain to resist its utterly seductive effect on me.
I was going to try to be strong and not tell you, but in the interest of our marriage and future together, I think it’s only fair that you know.
My name is Melissa, and I am a frosting addict.
Sometimes, when the cravings get really bad, I worry that my addiction will someday come between us. I’m not naive. I know that marriages can fall apart because something becomes more important to one person, and that something is suddenly more important than the marriage itself.
Addictions kill. Addictions ravage otherwise lovey-dovey couples, Sweetpea. Addictions turn people into monsters, thinking of nothing more than that next fix. Chocolate frosting. Vanilla frosting. Butter cream frosting. French vanilla frosting. Strawberry frosting. Funfetti frosting.
I don’t want to be that mouth-gorging, spoon-licking, hiding-stashes-of-Betty-Crocker-in-my-underwear-drawer addict. That’s why I’m going to need your help, Sweetpea. I mean, just look at my eyes in these photos. I’m a frosting fiend – like a scary clown who has inhaled a bit too much makeup and liked it. I trust that you will be supportive and help me keep this addiction in check because in 2010, it was at its height. And honestly, I’m scared of how low I will go. So can I count on you, Sweetpea? Until we meet…
In the interest of full disclosure, look for more of my “My name is Melissa, and I am a…” confessions next week.