The craving

I went into the pastry shop. I wasn't supposed to, but I did.

I was not supposed to have any pastries of any sort. I knew the best way to avoid eating the pastries was to avoid the pastry shop altogether. But I entered it. I wanted pastries, and I figured the best way to satisfy my craving was to be as close to the pastries as possible without having any. (Behold the power of rationalization.) And so I entered the shop and was met with an indescribable aroma and sight of the delectable pastries. Samples were displayed invitingly in glass trays. A baker held a tray before me and asked me if I would like a bite, just one bite, that's all. He held the tiny clear toothpick in front of me, the end of which poked into a pastry bit. It had a golden flaky crust and a glistening filling. I took the toothpick in my hand and smelled the morsel. It was still warm from the oven.

What harm could one bite do? It was just one bite. Could I live with the guilt?

"Now that you have it, you'll have to try it," the baker mused. "Otherwise we throw it out since you touched it."

Oh that would be a waste, I thought to myself. Might as well have it... Think of the starving children in Africa...

I brought it to my lips and the warm filling just glazed my upper lip when I stopped. It was right there in front of me, but I suddenly felt weird. I wasn't in the mood to have pastries. It didn't feel right. I gave the toothpick back to the baker and laughed sheepishly. "I gotta go," I said, and promptly ran out of the shop.

After I left, I could feel my heart still beating. How close was that? I asked myself. I was somewhat relieved that I avoided giving in, but at the same time, guiltily disappointed that I didn't have any, when I could have, just a little, and no one would have been the wiser.

Avoid the pastry shop I could hear my conscience and my friends' voices in my head say.

But I can't. I don't want to. Perhaps the reason I walk by that shop and step in "just to look around" is the craving itself rather than the pastries. How odd it is that an unfulfilled craving can be just as exquisite as the craved thing itself.