Musings of Me

Cravings

There are cravings, and then there are CRAVINGS.

I have seen both in action, and was most recently a victim of the latter.

The seriousness of CRAVINGS can be easily illustrated. Prior to my latest CRAVING, the last time I had a CRAVING was while I was in Australia. At this juncture, I was living in the ghetto (seriously. Karawara is the ghetto). Thankfully no CRAVING is powerful enough to make one consider a course of action potentially leading to bodily harm.

Needless to say, in the ghetto, one doesn’t go out alone in the evenings, especially if you are a woman (while the running joke is that would-be criminals would pay me to let them run away unscathed, I am simply not stupid or brazen enough to flaunt idiocy).

As memory serves, it was a Sunday evening, and for some reason Australia has closed shops on Sundays. This is especially annoying (but not as much as having stores close at six on weekdays). Regardless, I was watching the Simpsons with my flatmates when IT happened. I had a CRAVING.

“Hey, does anyone have any chocolate?”
“Nope.”

The thing about CRAVINGS is that they can affect the people around you. Nine times out of ten, if you are a woman living with other women, any time you have a CRAVING at least 75% of your flatmates will end up with cravings as well. This can average at about 85% contagious if the CRAVING is for chocolate (and while chocolate is pretty much guaranteed to cause cravings, it is the only substance in my knowledge that can cause CRAVINGS by association).

Within five minutes of my piteous cry, there were six women pawing through the cupboards. Rie’s cupboard: Negative. Julie’s: Nope. Louise’s: Nada. Tapuwa’s: Not even any hidden Tim Tams. Abby’s: A box of Milo (powdered chocolate milk mix. Nasty stuff). My cupboard yielded nothing, as we had eaten my M&M’s, Tim Tams, Chocolate chips, and anything chocolate-related several hours before.

BUT, there was a bar of baking chocolate discovered in the wreckage. Now, if any of you have ever been desperate for chocolate, and have actually tried this unsweetened abomination, it is nasty. The only reason I had it was because I actually was baking things at this point. Considering I couldn’t cook, I needed to do something to keep my housemates happy (especially since I am NOT a Domestic Goddess, as you well know).

The level of CRAVING, craving, and desperation boiled down to as follows: We couldn’t travel to a store, as they were closed. Louise’s car was a piece of crap, so it probably would have broken down anyway. This left six highly-educated, beautiful, competent women staring at a box of Milo and a baking bar.

I must have had one hell of a CRAVING. My five housemates actually drank the Milo (nasty Nasty NASTY. Milo is to Nestlé’s Quick what Vegemite is to Peanut Butter). Of course only Americans appreciate buckets of sugar dumped into their food, but I stand by my assertion that Milo is shit. Perhaps this is why in my moment of darkness, I sat down and actually ATE the chocolate baking bar.

Even my housemates were astounded by this ridiculous length I had gone to to get my chocolate fix. “Dear God, she is eating a baking bar!” spoke Julie in quiet shock. “I have never seen this, and I am studying Psychology!”

“Jill, it is all right,” soothed Tapuwa. “Tomorrow we will walk to the gas station and buy some overpriced ice cream!” Abby jumped in. “Jill, do you think you will have a craving for apple pie this weekend?” Rie commented as well. “I could go for some apple pie. Jill, can you make us apple pie? I suddenly have a craving for apple pie.”

Things went downhill from here. By the end of the night, we had eaten ice cream, whipped cream, apple pie, pickles, Milo, a baking bar, and in Louise’s case, a can of condensed milk.

Until last weekend, over half a year later, I have not had another CRAVING.

This brings me back to where I began. My most recent CRAVING attack was remarkably well timed. I had the house to myself, and anyone who dared stand against me was 800 miles away. This was great, because what I really missed were pickled eggs. Not to be deterred by warnings I would stink up the house (IE don’t do it), I went out and purchased $15 worth of eggs, vinegar, and jalapenos.

Well, I DID stink up the house. The cat was pissed. She ran outside and I didn’t see her until three days later. The smell didn’t really bother me; I lost my olfactory sensitivity in Organic Chemistry. I did leave an open box of baking soda out to deodorize the house as much as possible, though (Heloise Helpline from Good Housekeeping. –NO sniggering).

My directions said I had to wait at least three days, but when one has a CRAVING, three hours is the max. My pickled eggs turned out pretty well, actually. I have about $12 worth of eggs to go. And it is nice to have a snack my relatives won’t filch.

Although myself having been guilty of being the filcher one too many times already, I have no right to complain. I could not help but notice, though, that Lisa (my new housemate) has a really nice chocolate bar hidden in the butter drawer of the refrigerator.

Amateur.

posted by Jill @ 10:55 PM