Dear Mexican Food,

Hi, it’s me Cory. How are you doing? We haven’t spoken in awhile, but I thought I should touch base and chat about a few things.

I have to say I sort of feel like you’re taking advantage of me and I don’t know why or when this all started.

I’d like to think that back in high school and college we were good friends. The parties, the outings, the drinking ... I felt you were always there for me, and I for you.

But I could sense a change in our relationship about five or six years ago. Our refried tryst began to fade and you only seemed to cause distress and anger within me. Not to mention you make my stomach sound like I just ate a bag of kittens.

As I comb over our experiences together, it’s beginning to paint a very ugly picture, my friend. Over the years, you’ve only preyed upon my weakness for your cheesy, greasy goodness. At various times in my life, I came to you in moments of vulnerability and desperation.

Your idea of a reciprocation was to make my jeans fit tighter and the beginnings of a male baby bump.

Plus, you only show up when I’m really drunk. Like fall-down-hit-my-face-on-the-fireplace kind of drinking. I’m not saying I only see you as a late-night booty call or anything, but honestly, you’re just not good for me.

I have to admit that when I wake up from another one of our late-night orgies of frenzied asada attacks on my gastro-intestinal system, I am not happy. I see the various wrappers and half-eaten rolled tacos, and I’m ashamed of myself.

What I’m trying to say is, you’ve hurt me. Well, no not mentally. I’m fine with massive midnight overeating. It’s the American way.

My stomach feels like I swallowed a live grenade. I won’t go into details about how those grenades explode and the damage caused to various pieces of plumbing in my house.

And yet your guacamole siren song continues to find me regardless of consequence or negative impact on my health. Why can’t I get you out of my head (or colon)?

Someday, I’m going to actually leave you. You’ll see. As for now, I have to go write another letter. We’ll be in touch ...

Dear Sushi,

How am I still hungry?