Sugar Squirts

I was very confused by the plastic bag full of empty sugar packets. I stood and stared for a few minutes, trying to work out an explanation that made sense. There weren't even granules of leftover sugar, as though the packets had been vacuumed clean. What on earth? And why was this sitting on the kitchen counter?

A few days later, when the bag was long gone, I crossed paths with my roommate and asked her about it.

"Bess, what was with that bag of sugar packets?"

"Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to leave my trash there."

"But, what's with all the sugar packets?"

"I cleaned my room the other day. It won't happen again."

"That was a lot of sugar packets."

"Yeah," she said shyly, "I like sugar."

Well, now. I like sugar, too, but wow.

Later in the week, I helped myself to my ice cream, the one marked with my name, and look at that, it was mostly gone. Dude. This was the first time I was getting to eat my ice cream and there were but a few spoonfuls left.

I decided to check what else she was eating of mine and figured my baking supplies might be a good place to start. Sure enough, the baking sugar was depleted by a good two cups more than when I had last used it. The regular foods, the ones without high sugar content, were at their normal levels of usage. I found it interesting that her own non-sugary foods looked untouched. I was pretty sure I was looking at the same boxes of cereal, cans of tuna, and the like, as when she had first moved in.

That evening I mentioned to her that I was disappointed to find my ice cream almost gone. Again, she was shy when admitting but apologized. I couldn't bring myself to say anything about her sugar addiction because, honestly, I had no idea what to say. It was her health. I just wanted her to leave my food alone.

During a Sunday afternoon following the ice cream discussion, I made chocolate chip cookies and offered to share with Bess, but she rejected the offer by saying, "Thanks, but I like my sugar from the source."

You don't say.

While other people go on drug benders, Bess went on sugar benders. She even tried to hide it like an addict. Even her family seemed to have no idea.

She was an oddball, so I can't say I was surprised with her bizarre sugar compulsion. Her DVD collection (this happened a while ago) was all movies about "women getting shit on", as my boyfriend described it.

She was big on routine to a psychotic degree. After she agreed to my mom visiting for two weeks (from the Isle of Man), she suddenly forgot and freaked out. I showed her the text messages where I first brought it up and even my wall calendar where I had noted she ok'd it. Not good enough. The next morning, she handed me a page of rules mom had to follow and a breakdown of the rent she would need to pay during her visit. Why? Because her routine was to come home from class, watch TV, and go to bed. Since my mom would sleep on the couch and disrupt her routine, she wanted to be compensated. I suggested moving the t.v. to her room but she said no! And it was her TV. Like, ?!?!

I was so upset at the whole thing, I ended up moving out before my mom arrived.

Anyway, weeks after I'd forgotten about the sugar packets and ice cream, she returned home clutching her waist, doubled over, moaning. There was no doubt in my mind she had binged on sugar and her body was hating her for it. I asked if she needed anything, and she said on her way to the bathroom, "I think something is wrong with my stomach."

The highlight of the sugar saga was an evening when my boyfriend was over for the night. I was fast asleep, but he had woken to the sound of what he described as an "Epic Episode." His recount of the event is as follows.

The front door slammed shut. I heard running and then the bathroom door slamming. For the next hour, I heard moaning, squirting, grunting, splashing, and calls for mercy.

As a light sleeper, I couldn't believe I had slept through the grievous peril Bess had experienced. I could imagine what had happened, though; likely another sugar binge.

When Bess crawled out of her bedroom later the next day, she looked like death. I asked if she was okay.

She moaned, "I think I have diabetes or something."

Poor Bess.