Eve, why I blame her!

Introducing the original Momo.


I have got a million problems, and Eve is one of them.


She started in me a bad habit, which happens to be more pronounced in my kind of women than others .

Let me explain.

The woman was convinced. She saw that the tree was beautiful and its fruit looked delicious, and she wanted the wisdom it would give her. So she took some of the fruit and ate it. Then she gave some to her husband, who was with her, and he ate it, too. Genesis 3:6

Therein lies the genesis of my problem… She ate!

I do not know what kind of fruit that was. Maybe back then, because it was Eden, fruit smelled like freshly baked cinnamon cupcakes about to be drenched in vanilla frosting. Or perhaps the fruit tasted like carbs.

I can see how resisting a giant grape, that you know too well tastes like perfectly crisp salted French fries, at 0300 hrs after imbibing industrial amounts of alcohol from Westy can be a challenge. Yes, I know how the battle against a hyperactive sense of smell and watering taste buds is lost at the sight of juicy eats that are forbidden, is it just me or do all forbidden foods look brighter and smell better when on diet?

I cannot count the number of times I cheated on Atkins especially when near the end like on day 12, because my mother broke out the heaviest wok and worked her magic on the demon infested wheat flour to produce those perfectly sized chapattis that I swear melt in your mouth. I do not know where tea appears from, but before I know it, its four cups and two chapattis later and I am regretting but still chewing on a chapo as I ponder my next move.

How I desperately try to mind my own business, making a bee line to my car from a meeting only to be assaulted by the delicious smell from that horribly located Kenchic. I am led by my nose like Salmon on bait to the counter, where the intense aroma slaps the mint from my mouth and replaces it with greasy chicken and fries “zakuonjesha”.

Yes, I know what it’s like to pack a dressing free salad to work, on the day that the boss decides to order pizza for the team, Something meaty becomes something you want to murder. My one bite turns into two slices washed down with Coke Zero, because the calories must be kept to a minimum.

The battle with food is an everlasting one. One that would not have happened if Eve had known some choice words that would have kept he who slithers at bay. Perhaps if Adam had opted to be extra romantic at that hour, and held her hand the entire time, she would not have been available to be tempted, but that is a story for another day.

Eve, I have beef with you… pun intended!