It was 2 AM and I couldn’t sleep; all evening I had been subjected to the siren song of temptation and it felt like I had warring voices in my head.
“Go for it,” said one voice. “Who are you hurting?”
“Be strong,” counseled the other. “You’ll hate yourself in the morning.”
I shook my head; it didn’t help. The voices were getting louder.
“You only live once, “ said the one.
“Just go back to bed,” said the other.
I decided to take the high road and on the way back to bed I checked the animals.
Our big dog Ali was sprawled out on the old leather sofa in the den, on her back, all four legs in the air, snoring gently. Parker, the junior cat, was curled into a tight little ball on the same sofa and Haley, the senior cat, was sound asleep on top of the bookcase in the corner.
As I walked past the kitchen on my way to the bedroom I heard the voice again: “Go for it,” it said and with that the last vestiges of my will power vanished and I opened the refrigerator door. There, in the soft glow of the refrigerator light sat the platter of fried chicken my sister had sent over earlier.
I was feeling guilty before the first bite; I do not generally eat in the middle of the night and fried chicken was not going to bring down my cholesterol level but I had not had honest-to-god fried chicken in years, certainly not since my mother had stopped cooking many years ago. My stomach growled in anticipation.
Now, as I removed the saran wrap from the chicken I had the guilty realization that Ryan would be very disappointed in me; we had agreed that I would watch my cholesterol intake and he would consume less wine, but just then I suddenly had the sense that I was not alone. I glanced cautiously over my shoulder and saw three pairs of eyes staring at me intently.
I’m not sure how all three pets could hear the refrigerator door open and get across the house so quickly but there they were: Ali was sitting directly behind me, licking her lips. Parker was sitting on the stove; when he saw that I saw him he jumped down and started doing figure-eights around my legs. Haley was sitting on the dining room table, staring at me intently. Clearly they had no reservations about eating fried chicken at 2 AM.
I sighed again and looked at the animals. “This is our secret,” I said sternly. “Understand?” I grabbed a chicken leg and bit down happily; it was as delicious as I remembered. I took another bite but then Ali, feeling neglected, barked loudly. As if on cue Haley and Parker began to meow at the top of their lungs. Not to be outdone, Ali barked again. Louder.
“No, no, no!” I said, “hush!” and I threw Alia piece of the leg and gave smaller pieces to the cats and before I knew it the chicken leg was gone. Next the four of us split a thigh, then a breast and then another thigh. By now there was nothing on the platter except for a leg and another breast. The animals looked at me speculatively, as if wondering how far I was going to go and just as I was wondering if this qualified as a “binge” I turned and saw Ryan looking at me, arms folded.
“Fried chicken at 2 AM?” he said accusingly. “What about your cholesterol?”
“The kids were hungry,” I said lamely.
He shook his head and reached for the chicken leg. He took a bite and sighed happily. “God that’s good,” he said, and thought for a moment.
“How about some wine?” he said.