Several years ago (before marriage and kids, and when I still had enough free time to appreciate these sorts of things), I lived near a cute little café that sold the most delicious biscotti. When I first started going there, I would always order a coffee and a single biscotti (chocolate hazelnut, with a delicate layer of icing, in case you’re wondering). I would bring a book, settle in, then read, sip and munch my worries away (which, at the time, were probably nothing more than a mild concern over whether or not my shoes matched my purse, because again, this was before marriage and kids). It wasn’t long before I started ordering a second biscotti, and pretty soon I was adding on a third to take home with me. It was around this time that I started to suspect that I might have a mild biscotti addiction, but since it was only a twice a week habit, I wasn’t overly concerned.
Then one day, that all changed. It was late in the day and I was craving biscotti, but wasn’t at all in the mood for coffee. So I stopped by the café on my way home from work, and ordered two biscotti to go. Best decision, ever. Except two biscotti very quickly became three biscotti, and I found myself stopping by the café after work nearly every other day. The baristas all knew me by name, and one day they joked with me about my biscotti hording behaviour. I laughed along with them, but I was actually quite embarrassed that they had noticed. That’s when I realized something had to change.
On my next visit to the café, I didn’t order my usual three biscotti. I ordered four. Then I went on to do something that, looking back, makes me cringe. I invented a husband, and blamed the entire biscotti addiction on him. That’s right, I casually mentioned how much my husband loved having biscotti with his morning coffee. I even rolled my eyes at how out of control his biscotti addiction had gotten. Then I went home, sat on my couch, alone, and ate my four biscotti in shame.
That right there was my turning point. I knew I couldn’t go on like this. Mainly I was concerned about maintaining the illusion of marriage and a biscotti-crazed husband, but also, I knew a four-biscotti-a-day habit was probably quite unhealthy, as well as mildly alarming. I decided to quit. I went cold turkey. I stopped going to the café, and swore off biscotti all together. In fact, I have been biscotti-free for 10 years now. As far as I know, my husband (my real one), has never even heard of biscotti, so hopefully that’s a sign that my chances of relapsing are fairly low.