The Tim Tam

Something happened on Day 1 that has been bugging me all week.

It involved a Tim Tam.

I went along to a coffee morning for parents at my daughter's preschool.  It's C's first term there, and so I didn't know anyone.  I was on the lookout for the mother of a particular boy, S, because C had told me that he "hugged me so tight that my bones hurt" ("Why darling?"  "Because I love him!"  But of course.).  

I asked around, and soon someone pointed out S's mother.  She honed in and swooped towards me, wielding a fresh pack of Tim Tams.  

She thrust them forward, under my nose.  "Tim Tam?"  

As if I needed to be told what they were.

"Oh, yes please!", and I daintily picked one out and gave her a big smile.

I wonder if, immediately after that, my face communicated the horror I felt.  What on earth had I done?  Oh dear God, it's a Tim Tam, it's in my hand, and the woman armed with a whole pack of the freaking little turds  - possibly the future mother-in-law of my 3 year old daughter - is staring at me with a huge grin on her face.  

And she's waiting for me to eat it.

My goodness she's skinny.  I bet you she doesn't eat these things.  She just inflicts them on fatties like me because she's read somewhere that that's how to make friends with us.

I couldn't just hold on to it; you know how those things melt (you know you do).  I couldn't even put it in my handbag; it would melt in there, but I wouldn't care; it's just that it seemed that everyone's eyes were on me.

So I ate a Tim Tam.  On Day 1.  Less than 3 hours after I had so courageously walked and jogged around my neighbourhood in the rain (oh, how the mighty fall!).

The problem, I think, is that I wasn't yet fully programmed.  I'm still not fully programmed.  But the mindset is on its way to become hard-wired in my brain.  But it's that instant that you reach out for the Tim Tam when you should instead say, "Thanks, that's really nice of you, but no thanks (and now, can we talk about our children?  I'm not sure if my girl is ready for commitment yet; has S mentioned anything to you?").

I'm kind of glad that it happened though.  I'm glad because I was positively mortified when I realised what had happened.  That's something in itself.  I used to just feel a few seconds of guilt and then move on.

Next time someone offers me something very, very bad - no matter how well intentioned they are - I'm just going to think of that little brown turd, and say no, very nicely.

And go back to dreaming of how fabulous and fit I am going to be at forty, and how I am going to rock that dress.