Cheetos: A Confession
Last week I attended the Cedar Falls Christian Writers Conference for the first time since 2019. My fibromyalgia symptoms have worsened during the last year so I signed up, not knowing whether I’d be able to attend or not. The closest cabin to the venue was rentable, so I reserved it (for fibromyalgia’s insistent naps).
My favorite chauffeur got us there too early to check in, but in just enough time to try the nearby Dairy Cream. Why doesn’t anyone in the Des Moines area offer black raspberry swirl?
Another health difficulty (I’m a mess, but a blessed one) keeps me from having supper, but I enjoyed connecting with other attendees at the picnic. Then I spied a bag of Cheetos. I was missing out on my decades-long favorite junk food for writers conferences and workshops! (In the old days, I savored them with baloney sandwiches.)
Susan’s husband Mark heard me mention that and later brought me a little bag of them anyway. Hey, I can save it for morning, with the tuna salad I’d brought. What a satisfying breakfast!
After a nap the last day, I returned to the main building. Someone had parked a bag of Cheetos right where I’d left my notebook and shawl (always a shawl). But the gifter from the night before was nowhere around. When he arrived, I asked him about it, but he was innocent. His wife Susan was giggling though. She’s who had stationed them there for me.
I also wanted to meet the wife of one of the presenters. She arrived halfway through lunch, which (for me) was a gluten-free sandwich and Cheetos. My fingers were orange. I tried to expunge the orange from those fingers with a napkin so I could give her a hug. When we eventually got into a conversation about the lack of focus and concentration, I learned she lives holistically and has used herbs and natural remedies. My lunchmates had finished so we sat at the table to keep chatting.
In front of me were half a bag of Cheetos. Well, I wasn’t sure my new friend would approve of them, but I nibbled a few more. More tell-tale orange. I kinda lost interest in my wonderfully salty and crunchy traditional conference companions. Since I’d already consumed a whole bag of them at breakfast and half of one at lunch, I reluctantly tossed the rest.
My favorite chauffeur arrived that afternoon to load up my bedding and all from the cabin. We decided there was time for another black raspberry treat before heading home. Do you suppose that will replace my craving for Cheetos and become our traditional writers conference tradition?
