When I was a teenager I would have never dreamed I would grow into a middle aged crack addict, and I would certainly have never thought that my 65 year old sister would be responsible for getting me hooked.
In all fairness, my older sister has spent a good part of her life getting her siblings in trouble: When my younger brother’s first wife told him, “If you ever bring a dog home, this marriage is over,” my sister saw nothing wrong with giving him a puppy for his next birthday.
My sister is also the one who introduced my middle sister to her first husband, a man too wealthy and too handsome for his own good, knowing full well that he had– how do I put this delicately? —issues. When the marriage ended as disastrously as you would expect my older sister’s defense was, “Well I didn’t think t you would marry him.”
My crack addiction started innocently. My sister and I work together, and she knows that I like a sweet snack in the afternoon before I go to the gym, and I try, but generally fail, to eat something healthy. So she came up with a solution. On Monday she put a Tupperware container on my desk and opened it with a flourish. “What’s this?” I said.
“Homemade granola,” she answered. “It’s a healthy snack. All natural. No sugar added.”
I took a handful. “Wow,” I said, chomping. ”This is really good.” And it was. I took another handful, bigger this time. Then a third. “It’s really healthy?” I asked.
My sister beamed. “Yes,” she said. “It’s nothing but raisins and dates and dried fruit and oats and glazed walnuts and coconut and chocolate chips. And oats. No sugar at all.”
I pushed the container away. ”Get this out of here or I’ll finish it all.” I said, chewing. “So what makes it so sweet?” I asked ,pulling the container back towards me.
She shrugged. “Just a little maple syrup and honey. And some Karo. No white sugar at all.”
“My god,” I said, munching another handful. “This is addictive.” And I pushed the container away for good.
“It’s health food,” said my sister, and put the granola container into the break room.
Throughout that afternoon I managed to find multiple reasons to go to the break room and by 5:30 the container was empty. “I sure am sleepy,” I said. “I’ll go to the gym tomorrow.”
Thus started a trend. Every day my sister brought in a container of homemade granola. Every day I emptied it. “This is addictive,” I said. “I can’t stop myself.”
By Thursday I had finished the granola before lunch and I started to panic. “We’re out of granola,” I said accusingly. “You didn’t make enough.”
“I’ll bring more tomorrow,” she said soothingly.
“I need it now,” I said, frantic.
On Friday I met my friend Sage, who is a registered dietitian, for lunch and I brought her some granola. “This is a really healthy snack,” I told her.
She took one bite and swallowed hard. ”What is in this?” she said and I told her. Ten minutes later after she had stopped laughing she set me straight.
“This is pure sugar,” she said. “Honey? Maple syrup? Karo? It’s all sugar!” I was crushed but Sage did not notice. “This stuff is like crack cocaine. You may as well be eating sugar cubes covered in honey. I’ll bet you get really sleepy after you eat it, and then you want more.” I nodded mutely. “Sugar is a drug,” said Sage, “and you’re an addict.”
My sister was only momentarily phased when I told her not to make any more granola, and why. “Dietitians. What do they know?” she asked dismissively. Then she brightened. “I was bored with granola anyway. I just found a recipe for really healthy homemade Greek yogurt,” she said. “It’s made with Ben & Jerry’s ice cream. You’ll love it.”