A small deception

I know that I will regret admitting this. When I was a little girl, I loved dessert. At our house, we used to have a breadman who came every day or so with a kind of foldout case full of breads and sweets. He worked for a bakery called Dugan’s. They sold these cupcakes that had about a quarter inch of solidified sugary icing on top. Did I eat the cupcake? No, I peeled the icing off and just ate that. When Peggy and I went to Chamber’s Drug Store, I always got a chocolate ice cream cone. At Newberry’s, chocolate milk shakes. At the beach, a bottle of YooHoo.

But if you ask people who know me, they will say, Mary doesn’t like dessert and she doesn’t like chocolate. Well, of course I do. But as an adult and always on a diet, I started telling people that I don’t like dessert or chocolate or anything sweet. I’ve done this for years and years. Now people don’t offer it to me anymore. It makes things so much easier. The strange thing is, though, I’ve sort of convinced myself. Now I just need to start telling people that I don’t like chips.

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