Please Pass the Sugar

            Practically every Friday before work, I allow myself to indulge in a sausage and cheddar breakfast sandwich from Starbucks. I realize this isn’t the healthiest option, especially because I either have or will partake in boneless buffalo wings along with some cheesy pizza at some point during the week, but I figure that grading about 200 essays a month permits me to enjoy a sliver of synthetically made fattening delicacies once a week.

Anyway, recently it has come to my attention that I’m not as sexy as I used to be (I know, it’s hard to believe by just looking at me, but it’s true), and, well, lets face it, the ‘Beanz is not getting any younger. So, I decided to make a “healthier” option today, and ordered the blueberry oatmeal. BIG MISTAKE. Okay, so here’s how this shiz went down. I ordered blueberry oatmeal thinking to myself “Eh, this won’t be that bad, Al. You remember having breakfast from the old man on the Quaker Oats box every morning before school, his oats were comforting, sugary, and supposedly good for you,” and happily took my cup of oatmeal with the baggy containing a spoon and all the goodies that are meant to ensure I have a balanced and tasty breakfast. Amongst the bag of goodies I found a substance called “Agave Syrup.” Lets take a moment to discuss this fad that is the Agave. Um, it didn’t sweeten anything, at least not enough. I suppose it added a hint of something, and it didn’t necessarily seem fake – like for instance those Morning Star veggie buffalo nuggets (yes, I am in a devoted relationship with the magical potion that is butter and Frank’s Red Hot) that look so good on the cover but make you feel like you’re eating seasoned playdough – it just isn’t for me. Mama needs some raw sugar!

This isn’t really the fault of Agave, or Starbucks, for that matter. It’s about a woman’s right to sausage. I’m not even mad at the Agave sweetener because I recognize and appreciate that its soul purpose is to make me look and feel good, but consequently, it makes me unhappy for numerous reasons. First of all, it is a reminder that I could be eating a warm, cheesy, egg and sausage sandwich (I can almost feel the greasy warmth working its way down my esophagus and into my stomach, where it will enchant the organs around it into feeling cozy and satisfied; a gastric feeling that is only otherwise made to feel this way by a perfect slice of pizza), but instead am munching on water-revived blueberries, and wheat oats with a hint of what might be considered sweetness in some land where the concept of sugar has not yet been invented (pathetic fools). Secondly, it’s a harsh realization that I will soon be out of my 20’s, and my body and mind are not working the same way anymore. By making a healthier choice I am entering the realm of actual adulthood, and the image of the five- year old girl who once insisted to her mother that she would eat Mcdonald’s even when she got older is fading. I just want to eat all the junk food I crave and stay thin, is that really too much?