Dear Splenda: A (Shameful) Love Note

Dear Splenda:

I remember the day we met.  The Starbucks a few blocks north of Wall.  A toiling BigLaw 3rd year.  The days, nights, weekends all running together. Conference room meals, surprise double all-nighters.  The stress and sleep deprivation cocktail, the gym forgotten.  And it was then – in a misguided health initiative – I switched from real sugar to you.  You and your cloying promises.  

Indeed I do have a relationship with Splenda that is not appropriate.  You are not really natural.  You are neither local nor seasonal.  When you say you’re made from real sugar, we both look away from each other.  But agave nectar. Honey.  Simple syrup. Dehydrated cane sugar.  I’ve tried them all, and nothing compares 2 U.  

It’s particularly degrading, what with the whole NYC foodie-blog thing I’ve got going on. For me to be taken by your sweet chemical kiss.  And now, in desperate rationalization, I’ve purchased you ‘With Fiber!’  Oh, the bitter supersweet disgrace. 

So tomorrow morning I will wake up.  And once again I will tear into your little yellow packet of shame.  

And I will enjoy my coffee.  

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