To the man behind me in line at the Market:

I am sorry.

I really wasn’t staring at you in that creepy way. I was checking out your shopping cart, which is just creepy in a different flavor. I couldn’t help it though. Your cart was loaded with my favorite Pop Tarts, the cinnamon frosted ones. These are the only ones I can’t resist at all. If they’re in the house, they don’t last long. But you. You had half a dozen boxes of these. In my book, this makes half a dozen servings. You see why I can’t have them? You see?

But that’s not all. Under my six boxes of Pop Tarts, you had four bags of Newman’s Own Ginger Sandwich Cookies. Four! These cookies are directly from heaven! Ginger Cookies are not safe in my house. Not for long, anyway. Add a creamy filling to that, and it’s all over for me, and for them. I may have a teeny, sweet tooth.

But, then you also had Peanut Butter Cups. Don’t even get me started on my unnatural love for Peanut Butter Cups. These are the only candy I ever swiped from my children’s Halloween Stashes. I don’t know how many of these you had in your basket. There were quite a few. I couldn’t count them, though because by then, I noticed you noticing me checking out your shopping cart.

I looked away, paid, and left with my oatmeal, apples, coffee, and hummus. It was the right thing to do. It can’t work out, this thing between us. We have so much in common but this relationship, it isn’t healthy for me.

It’s not you; it’s me.

I am sorry.