So it's come to this

It's probably no surprise to any of you who know me that I have a serious sweet tooth and a tremendous fondness for cookies. (By the by, An Inordinate Fondness for Cheese is the title of another one of my upcoming books. Not the title that was written on the scrap of paper, mind you regular readers. That one has something to do with the "twilight wedge" because I was so smitten with the term when I first heard it used to describe the visible slice of approaching dark in a clear evening sky opposite the setted sun. But I digress...) So my love of the sweets generally manifests as a gnawing urge to snack right about this time every afternoon. Knowing this, I am usually prepared for the cravings by having my drawers stuffed full of goodies. ...My office desk drawers, you pervs.

Alas, I haven't gotten groceries in weeks so all my Milanos, Froot-Loops, dried mango, and the like are gone. Gone! I tried to ignore the intensifying pangs, but I reached the point that snackage was all I could think about. There's a snack machine in the breakroom, but no one has change for a $20, and anyway, CornNuts are one of the most breath-defyingly vile creations ever to try passing as a food substance.

In growing desperation, I searched the entire floor for free holiday spillover expecting someone to have set out the fruitcake they got from Aunt Ethel or the lopsided Christmas cookies that weren't fit for the neighbors. I checked my drawers again, to make sure nothing magically appeared or had been overlooked (again: my desk drawers. Jeesh). I searched all the unlocked cabinets in the breakroom. I tried to tide myself over with a wholly unsatisfactory tic-tac. I triple-checked my drawers (oy).

And now? I've been reduced to eating dry hot cocoa mix directly out of the packet with a spoon. I ain't proud.