Death by Fruit and the Charcuterie Betrayal

It Was My Son’s Birthday, So I Cheated

It started with the best of intentions. A simple, casual birthday gathering at my son’s house, nothing fancy, just beautifully arranged charcuterie boards, a few lighthearted conversations, and a quiet, internal promise to myself: I’d practice moderation.

I told myself I’d stick to a few healthy snacks. A handful of grapes, some almonds, maybe a slice of cheese if I felt indulgent.

I had a plan.

And, like all great plans, it crumbled spectacularly!

The Brutal Fruit Incident

At some point, my son handed me a drink.

“It’s fruit,” he said.

Now, let’s set the scene:

• I hadn’t had a single drop of alcohol in months.
• I hadn’t eaten a proper meal all day.
• The sun was baking everything in sight, making the air stick to my skin like syrup.

Naturally, I took a few sips. (Okay, fine, I downed the whole thing.)

Immediately, my body rebelled.

The Symptoms of Poor Life Choices:

At first, I felt warm, pleasantly so. 

That cozy, deceptive warmth that tells you everything is fine… until it isn’t.

Then, my heart rate spiked, pounding like a bass drum in a metal band.

Then came the sweat, not the subtle kind you get after a brisk walk, but full-body distress, beads trickling down my forehead as if I’d just run a marathon in the Sahara.

My vision blurred, edges of the world softening, as though my eyes were trying to distance themselves from the catastrophe unfolding inside me.

Then, my brain, in its infinite wisdom, thought, Hey, let’s faint.

Things I Thought in That Moment:

• I am dying.

• I am dying in front of my child.

• This is NOT how I want to go out.

As I grabbed the edge of a chair, bracing for the inevitable collapse in front of the entire guest party, like a Victorian woman overcome with emotion, about to flutter into an elegant faint, my son noticed my distress.

Now, this kid—he’s a character!

He wasn’t rushing to my side to offer comforting words or a glass of water. No, instead, he leaned in with this look on his face that said, “Should I call an ambulance, or is this just part of Mom’s dramatic flair?”

“Are you okay?” he asked, his tone a mix of concern and absolute boredom. Like he’d seen this before. Probably because I have a history of dramatic food-related meltdowns.

In my grandest moment of self-deception, I managed to croak out, “Oh yeah, totally fine. Just a bit warm.” (A bit warm? I was seconds away from being a cautionary tale.)

He gave me a look so full of skepticism, I almost laughed.

He raised an eyebrow. “You know, if you die, I’m totally buying a boat with my inheritance.”

In that moment, my death wasn’t as tragic as it was part of his future investment strategy.

I collapsed dramatically in front of the fan, desperately sipping water like it could reverse the effects of my poor life choices. I asked for a cold, wet washcloth, which I pressed to my face, hoping to wipe away not just the sweat but the shame.

Eventually, after what felt like an eternity (but was probably five minutes), the worst passed. My heart rate slowed, my vision cleared, and I no longer felt like I was about to meet my ancestors.

And that’s when I realized:

I had just been taken down by fruit!

The Charcuterie Trap

Once I was no longer teetering on the edge of death, I did what any rational person would do: 

I ate my feelings!

I was walking the tightrope of self-discipline. Every step felt like a small, but hard-won victory. You’ve got this, I told myself.

Just. Stick. To. The. Grapes!

A few almonds, maybe. Nothing wild. I’d be the hero of moderation today.

I could do this. I could—

But then, it happened.

The charcuterie board appeared.

It wasn’t just a spread of snacks; it was a carefully crafted trap. 

An edible siren song, calling to me with its perfectly arranged cheeses, the artisanal crackers whispering my name like they were old friends.

Come on, they seemed to say. Just one more bite.

Prosciutto slices curled like delicate petals, mocking my resolve with their elegance.

I knew it!

I knew I was about to fall, but I couldn’t resist.

The grapes were good, sure, but they didn’t have that kind of power. This was the moment I would remember as the turning point, when moderation and I broke up for good, and I slid headfirst into the deep end of snack-induced chaos.

Charcuterie boards are deceitful little beasts. They lure you in with their sophisticated, Pinterest-worthy presentation, making you feel like you’re just “grazing.” But before you know it, you’ve consumed your body weight in crackers, committed cheese-related crimes, and lost all sense of time.

This wasn’t just a few snacks. This was a whole damn event.

The Charcuterie Board Lineup:

• Three types of cheese. (Three. Because apparently, one wasn’t enough to ruin me.)

• Artisanal crackers, the kind that come in tiny, perfect squares, tricking you into thinking eating twelve is basically the same as eating one.

• Prosciutto slices folded like delicate origami. (How could I resist?)

And then, the chocolate cake arrived, rich and moist which practically whispered my name.

The Internal Debate: A Play in Three Acts

Act One: The Justification.

“It’s just a few snacks,” I told myself, carefully selecting a single slice of cheese like I was some kind of refined connoisseur. I thought I had control.

Then someone handed me a plate.

Act Two: The Snowball Effect.

Well, since I already had the plate, I might as well grab another cracker.

And, I mean, it would be rude not to pair it with cheese.

Maybe just one folded piece of prosciutto, protein is good for you, right?

Fifteen minutes later, my plate was a crime scene, covered in remnants of crackers, cheese, and who knew what else.

Act Three: The Full Surrender.

By the time the Swiss rolls arrived, I was fully in “Screw it, we ball” mode.

I grabbed one.

Then another.

And then, because why stop there? Someone talked me into trying another slice of chocolate cake.

“Just a small one,” I said, as though I’d ever been able to control myself around chocolate cake.

The Aftermath: Shame, Regret, and a Lot of Water

Once I was stable enough to function like a human again, I slumped onto the couch, feeling the weight of my snack-fueled spiral.

I was sluggish. Bloated. Like a balloon overinflated and on the verge of popping.

“I shouldn’t have eaten all that,” I muttered, not really expecting an answer.

“You barely ate anything,” my brain reassured me.

Oh. No. No, no, no!

I had eaten everything.

What I Learned:

• Alcohol on an empty stomach is NOT a personality trait.

• Heat + sugar + booze = a near-death experience.

• My body is NOT the indestructible machine it once was.

• Charcuterie boards are sneaky little devils, and I will NEVER trust one again.

The Road Back

The next day, still feeling the aftermath of my snack-induced spiral, I refused to get on the scale. Instead, I filled up AquaShawn (my water bottle, obviously). 

I drank a green smoothie that tasted like blended regret and lawn clippings. 

I avoided all eye contact with bread.

Because here’s the truth: one bad day doesn’t ruin everything. It’s frustrating. It’s a cruel joke that three days of healthy eating does nothing, but three minutes with a Swiss roll can haunt you for a week.

But it’s not a reason to quit.

We all slip up. And that’s okay. The key is learning from it, picking ourselves up, and keeping moving forward.

Final Thoughts: Tell Me I’m Not Alone in This

We all have that one thing that makes us slip up. But here’s the thing—those slip-ups don’t define us. We’re allowed to mess up. We’re allowed to forgive ourselves. So, share with me: What’s your weakness? And how do you bounce back from it?