Beating the Beast

My mouth watering, I ran toward the sink.

I can make it, I thought.

I have to make it.

It was the second time that day.

I'd made it the time before. I could do it again.

I got to the sink and thrust the faucet handle up as fast as I could.

The water came gushing out and filled the bowl in seconds.

I grabbed for the dish soap and gave the bottle a hard squeeze.

Relief washed over me.

I'd done it.

I'd made two different desserts.

And I hadn't eaten any part of them.

I'd taken the bowl with the gooey, rich, decadent batter, and before I could succumb to the consuming desire to openly lick the contents therein, filled it with water and soap preventing myself from giving in.

Giving up.

I had made a commitment to myself and I kept it.

I beat the beast.