Confessions of a Secret Sprinkle Eater

My sister Wendy and I have food allergies. We are both allergic to wheat, dairy and sugar. It's difficult to avoid these foods, so of course, we cheat sometimes.

Last night on the telephone, Wendy and I admitted we fell off the wagon. "I ate sprinkles for dinner the other night," I said. Wendy had never eaten sprinkles for dinner, but she encouraged me to continue my confession. "I drank a whole bottle of maple syrup once, and I felt stoned. I had to immediately go to bed."

Wendy admitted to drinking the same fluid, straight from a maple leave-shaped metal tin. A few days later when her husband was looking for it, Wendy pretended not to know what happened to the decorative container.

"I ate a whole bag of marshmallows the other night, and I toasted them over the stove and got melted marshmallows in my hair," I boasted. Now we were proud of our sins, like two bragging drug addicts.

"I squirted a whole tube of icing in my mouth," Wendy said gleefully. "Me, too," I said.

But the ultimate, most delicious and sinful item we'd both eaten within the last seven days was cookie dough. Our bodies react so violently to this perfect food, that we can only eat the very smallest amounts of the heavenly nectar.

I wish all food didn't exist and I could just live on cookie dough. In my dreams.