My mother was a stickler for purchasing only what was needed for cooking healthy meals. Her idea of a snack was fruit. On rare occasions, she would bring out non-chocolate, non-sugary treats like vanilla wafers or graham crackers, neither of which aroused my taste buds. But, oh, the next-door neighbor’s kids…

The next-door neighbor’s kids had Cheetos. Our yard was separated from theirs by a chain link fence, and they were kind enough to share Cheetos through the links. We were too young to walk to the neighborhood grocery store by ourselves, but we walked with Mom. I was four, my sister Leslie was two, and my brother Greg hadn’t arrived yet.

I couldn’t read and I didn’t know the name of those magical long, crunchy cheese treats that the neighbors shared—but I recognized the bag. I begged Mom to buy them for us, but she refused, so when her back was turned, I snatched a bag and hid it under my coat. Let me tell you—you don’t have to be an adult in love to have a pounding heart. My heart boomed like a loose exhaust system on a souped-up race car. I was scared to the point of shakiness on the walk home thinking that my mother would hear my heart and realize what I had done. I skipped ahead of her all the way home.

Once home, I hid in the closet to eat my heavenly snack. Either my generosity or my fear gave me away. Leslie found me in the closet with the Cheetos and wanted some. I can’t remember if I gave her some to be nice—or if I gave them to her so she wouldn’t tattle. The outcome was the same. She ran to Mom and showed her the Cheetos.

The Cheetos were confiscated. I got spanked and sent to bed without supper. The worst part of the punishment was what happened the next day. Mom marched me back to the store to confess to the shopkeeper and pay for the Cheetos.

I’m sure some who experienced a similar episode in their childhoods would never want to eat the offending food again—but not me. I still love Cheetos. Here in our part of Scotland I’ve discovered the UK version of Cheetos—and these with the added attraction of “spicy.” Considering that Bandera, Texas, home of my heart is a place with Mexican food restaurants and cowboys cooking breakfast tacos over an open fire in front of the courthouse on Main Street—spicy Cheetos want-to-bes captured me. Two problems. I can eat the entire bag in one day. I haven’t dared to look at the calorie count—but common sense says that eating an entire bag of “junk food” in one day is not good. And, when I was in the hospital for three months after a hip replacement that became infected and was on drip antibiotics that entire time, I developed diabetes. Never having had a problem with eating any food or dessert and in any quantity before in my life, this illness has taken some stringent self-training to control. After consuming a bag of the want-to-bes in one day, I tested my blood sugar and found that it was up.

As a general rule, I never throw away food. We didn’t get to pick and choose what we wanted to eat when we were kids. We ate whatever was served or went hungry. We sat at the table until we cleaned our plates. I don’t think food from our table ever found its way into a bin. Once in a while one of the Great Dane dogs might have rated a treat—but even that was rare.

When Alan and I first got married, I think he was a bit shocked. If he left something on his plate—I ate it. I did not throw out food. I still don’t. However, I broke that rule yesterday and threw out a bag of want-to-bes that was not completely empty. I tested and found my blood sugar up. The cheesy dream snack had to go. I wasn’t tossing food—I was tossing temptation.

“God is faithful, who will not allow you to be tempted beyond what you are able, but with the temptation will also make the way of escape, that you may be able to bear it.” 1 Corinthians 10:13.

Tossing the bag of Cheetos was my escape. If only other temptations were that easy to toss.

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