I’m an Oreo whore.

I admit it. I’m not ashamed. I just can’t stop eating them once I start. Even before it goes in my mouth, the smell of the frosting fills my nostrils, and I know I’m going to have black teeth.

I think the packaging is conducive to binge eating. They don’t just give you one row, but three. That is three times the Oreo surface area to snack from, and we all know that something dissolves (or is eaten) faster when it has more surface area.

Aside from the surface area shenanigans, the bag is hard to close. You won’t find any Pringles-style lid here, no convenient chipesque sticky strips. No, with Oreos you have to roll the bag closed, but that can’t be done unless all three rows have been sufficiently depleted.

Once the bag is rolled to a point, the cardboard inside will constantly fight to be free. The bag unfurls itself, a flower releasing the sweet perfume of chocolate and frosting. It drags me by the nostrils and thrusts me into it’s cookie-sandwich bosom, where I’m lulled into eating just a few more.

Sometimes I am strong, and I can resist my evil temptress. That is when she tag teams me with milk. Oh, was there ever a better combination than Oreos and milk? Together they are the Sirens, drawing me towards diabetic rocks while I thrash against my restraints. But to be an oarsman, unmoved by the all-encompassing appeal of this chocolatey devil! If only I could keep to my intended mission, ignoring her call that whispers softly in my nose and makes my saliva run.

Damn you Oreos! You are a succubus that must be undone! How can I stand idly by and let another lose his way on the path to healthy snacking? There is only one way to destroy you for good–I must eat you all! I will save the world from your seductive charms! I will not stop until I have eaten every last Oreo! You will be defeated!

And that is why I end up eating too many Oreos at once.