Oh the shame

So, I'm sorta ashamed to tell the whole wide Internet what a foul beast I am, but at the same time, I'm kinda in awe of this grotesque accomplishment.

Remember when my dear friend Shelley sent me the most indulgent and ultimately shocking gift of all time? And then I made some inane comment about how I *could never* eat it all and what WILL I do with all of this sinful and ridiculous hazelnuttiness woe is poor me?

I did. At least I made those comments to Bubba while he was sizing up that tub of Nutella cradled in my arms, wondering aloud if this was the last time he'd see his wife in normal size.

And really, to myself, I was wondering the same kinds of things. Like whether this was going to undo all those years of faithful gym going and my recent affair with running or force me to release my stranglehold on size 8 jeans and just go ahead and forget about ever getting into a 6 again. I wondered these things and then, alas, my spoon and I dove straight in.

For a year and a half.

The Nutella Tub lived in our cupboard for all that time, through goopy heat waves and rigid frigidness. Through batches of sandwich cookies and bizarre side dishes. And through many baking experiments that were more a cry for help so that my thighs and ass might be rescued from the impending doom of palm oil derived calories than a desire to bake something delicious. (You should know, I was giving this crazy baking way so I could, like, save myself.) And then through many, many bouts with The Big Spoon.

And finally, a week or so ago, I decided it was time to let go of the suddenly crystallized (and frankly deeesgusting) remains and give the hell up. I mean, we'd had a good run, the Nutella and I, and I was ready to open my cupboards again without the self-loathing that comes from knowing that right next to the oat bran and flaxseed is a giant ironic tub of naughtiness.

Also - Bubba has been eyeing that jar for use in the garage for ages, so it seemed like good inspiration.

I think this spring cleaning was a good idea. Because I like to fit into my pants and also because I think I've gotten this whole "I want Nutella tattooed across my back" thing out of my system. Not that I now hate it or something like I did for so long with Oreos and how I still do with those gross circus animal cookies, but I definitely don't find it as irresistible as I once did and frankly don't even find it that appealing anymore.

Am I broken? Perhaps. But that's what happens when you manage to make your way to the bottom (or close, anyway) of a 6.61 lb jug of Nutella. You break your Ilovechocolateandhazelnutometer.

For the record, to break your IloveOreocookieometer, all you have to do is escape the supervision of your mum, crush half a dozen Oreos with a few gigantor spoons of Cool Whip and watch an episode of Thundercats after a hot day of third grade. You will then puke it all up in the backyard and never want either Cool Whip or Oreos for a really long time.

Same thing goes for your Ilovecircusanimalcookiesometer too, just subtract the Cool Whip, double the amount of cookies and swap Thundercats for a heated game of dodgeball in the driveway. Barforama. Plus, you'll be sworn off Circus Animals indefinitely, instead of letting them carefully sneak back into your life about ten years later during a moment of insobriety at a college kegger.

I am CUH-lassy, I know. Congratulate me already!