A letter of confession

Dear Tuna Salad,

There is no easy way to tell you this, so I will just come out and say it.

I have cheated on you.

I’m sorry.

I know I told you I was taking some time out to take the kids to Cornwall, but I didn’t tell you I would be meeting up with old friends.

Those old friends have seduced me, flattered me, and used my body for their own desires.

I am sure you realise by now that I mean I have cheated on you numerous times.

I’m sorry.

I tried to have lunch with you one day but Cornish cream tea sauntered up to my table.  Hot liquid, cooled by cold milk steamed seductively in my cup, and lashings of cornish cream, topping juicy jam upon a plain scone sat beside it.

I was powerless in their company.  Before I realised what had happened I was coating my insides with their beauty.  My lips were suddenly parted and the cream running over my tongue.

I won’t lie, it was delicious, even moreso as it was illicit.  Afterwards I didn’t feel like I do with you.  I felt weighted down, satisfied but uncomfortably full of guilt and gluten.

After the scone, my willpower was weak and when bacon sandwich popped in for breakfast I was unable to resist a quickie.  Ketchup dripped on my top signifying my sin.  The bread tasted divine, but left my stomach churning.

Cheating on you has not been easy tuna, my bowels have paid the price of a week cavorting with wheat and gluten.

And the worse thing?

My older lover followed me here.  The one whom I left for you.  The one who makes my toes curl with relaxation upon first sip, but leaves me battered and bruised, abused the next day.

Pinot was relentless in his pursuit of me, and after trying to resist I succumbed to his charm in a tiny cornish pub by the sea.

Just like before, he was gone by morning.  I felt dirty and used.

You never make me feel like that tuna.

I have been a fool.

I’m home tomorrow, I’ll be creeping into your arms with a face torn with guilt.

Do forgive me tuna.

Love

A once was perfect paleo person