Lust For Cheese-Its

There’s no such thing as a single handful of Cheese-Its. Or even enough Cheese-Its. I really like them — Cheese-Its; like opium, orgasm and a good nap rolled into one. My Cheese-Its come in a large red box with a defining burnt orange stripe across the front.

 

This cracker's cracker...

They are lightly salted snack crackers, square in shape and bursting with a synthetic, yet robust cheddar flavor. They are addictive. Hell, Cheese-Its put “crack” in the word cracker. To think about it, Cheese-Its ought to be shaped like little rock crystals and packaged in a glass pipe with a mouth-stem — and a burnt orange stripe across the front.

Cheese-its put the "crack" in the word cracker...

As my major weakness, Cheese-Its strike hardest when I am least expecting them to — when I am hiding behind my own complacency. I open your pantry in search of a quick fix for a momentary hunger. A Choc-O-Dile is too much, too fattening. Dried banana chips are too… too… healthy. Saltines? Too dry! Granola bar? Not satisfying. Rice cakes? Maybe when the scientists who built the Mars rover get around to improving the flavor and consistency of rice cakes, but not until. Cheese-Its. Yeah, just a handful will do you fine. Right?

I grab the unopened box and cautiously use a fingernail to break the glue seal bonding cardboard against cardboard atop the red box. The bounty is revealed as I pull open the wax paper bag within. Keenly aware of my dietary concerns, my fingers draw only a half-dozen or so crackers into your hand’s palm and raise them to my anxious mouth.

My first taste of Cheese-Its on an empty stomach is both a rush, and a relief. Initial contact with the tongue provokes in increased heart rate. My vision blurs just a bit. An involuntary moan, though mild, is audible to those about me. A shutter spreads up my spine and across my shoulders. My eyes roll back in my head and I briefly see God. A little water will help pass the first bite along to the stomach, making room for the more important second bite. In my mouth, the taste fosters the craving and the craving now grows like a Wyoming brush fire spreading in the wind. Cheese-Its break down instantly in the mouth and can be kneaded like dough by the tongue and teeth. Something to eat and something to do.

The second handful wholly awakens me. The artificially enhanced “cheese” flavor stimulates my senses. The salt heightens my desire for more. My craving quickly merges into an unnatural passion. A third handful evokes a slight, but easily rationalized feeling of gluttony. After all, it’s just been a few hands full, right? The fourth handful is usually the largest and most satisfying — 20 pieces or so, some falling to the floor as they rub the cardboard folds on their way out from the box. My gluttony is now self-admitted but isn’t overwhelming, and the craving has grown stronger still. The mild moan evolves into a heartier twitch.

Somewhere out there is an all Cheese-it pyramid -- I hope...

The fifth, sixth, and seventh handsful are doing sinister justice to my psyche. The red box is now noticeably depleted and a mild depression sets in as a film of guilt shrink-wraps itself around my brain. However, like a mental game of rock, paper, scissors, the profound satisfaction of flavor beats guilt every time and I continue on.

Whatever I was doing, wherever I was going upon opening this box of Cheese-Its is less a priority with each doughy bite. I am now seated, probably watching TV or even in bed — I amcozy. A glass of milk has found it’s way into my non-feeding hand, the red box with the orange stripe is held firmly between my legs with the top propped open for an easy reach-in. A commitment has been made between me and this box, stronger than any relationship I have ever had with a person. The box is a both alter and sanctuary. The contents, fuel and stimulant. The feeling, pleasure and guilt. I nurse the box with an increased caution as empty space grows and substance decreases.

Across the room my dog’s quizzical eyes are fixed on me as my legs hold to the box more firmly and my pet becomes more suspect than companion. Like a one night stand in a fine Paris hotel, I continue through my evening savoring each moment as if it were my last on Earth. I recognize that in parting, though completely satisfied, I will be left in the wake of pain and solitude. A few crumbs and some orange powder are now all that is left at the bottom of the red box with the burnt orange stripe. I draw the waxpaper bag from within the box, tilt it up and pour the crumbly remains into my mouth, allowing the dominant salt taste to sanctify my final swallow.

Mmmmmmm... canned liquid Cheese-Its....

 

 The sight of the empty bag at arm’s length sounds a gong in my mind, breaking me from the trance which has consumed me for hours. Fantasy gives way to reality; I just consumed 1780 calories, 212 grams of carbohydrate and 84 grams of fat. Not to mention the clinical abrasions which have forged a living scar across the roof of my mouth. Guilt? Maybe. Frustration? Could be. Satisfaction? Guaranteed.

Chieze the moment, chieze the day...

 I am one, my Cheese-Its and I. A moment has been seized.