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There is a five year old boy living in my brain. There is a constant fight for control in there between me and him, and at times I know he is winning.

For example, last night my wife called me while I was on my way home from work and asked me to pick up a vanilla milkshake. I thought this was a little strange, since we’ve both been on a diet since November. However, she had been home sick all day so I figured she thought it would help soothe a sore throat.

My first thought after I hung up the phone was “If she gets a milkshake then I get one too!” The five year old in my brain was stomping his feet to emphasize that point, and let me know that he would throw a tantrum if I did not, in fact, have a milkshake. Have you ever had a five year old throwing a tantrum inside your brain? I knew he had won.

My second thought after hanging up the phone was “My milkshake bring all the boys to the yard”. That one wasn’t the five-year olds fault, but I blamed him anyway.

Ten minutes later I was pulling through the drive-thru at McDonald’s, buying two milkshakes. Large, milkshakes. Each cup was a full quart of things that are bad for me. Each cup somehow managed to personify the reasons I was on a diet to begin with. No human being should be able to consume that much milkshake in one sitting, but I knew I was going to.

In fact, I couldn’t wait! Before I had even pulled away from the drive-thru window I took out a straw and took a good long drink from the chocolate milkshake. The five year old in my brain told me to pull over and drink the entire thing in the parking lot before I went home but I managed to convince him that I could drive and drink at the same time.

Somehow I made it home without incident, and handed my wife her milkshake. Her first question was “Why did you get the large ones?” but I didn’t have a good answer. The five year old did though. “Because”.

I sat down and continued to drink the milkshake. I had to satisfy that five year old. I had to have my head back to myself.

I drank until the back of my throat froze. I drank until there was a cold pit in my stomach. I paused only to catch my breath and let my throat heal for a minute. It was less than five minutes before I had the entire drink gone, and then I was taking the cover off of the cup and sucking out the last vestiges of milkshake residue.

Then the cold pit in my stomach started to grow.

I got up to get something warm to drink to see if that would help, but before I could even make it to the kitchen I knew I would have to detour… quickly.

I ran to the bathroom, lifted the toilet seat, got down on my knees and threw up.

It was cold! The damn milkshake froze my throat coming back up worse than it did going down. Memories of eating too much candy on Halloween suddenly came back to haunt me… and then mutated, turning into visions of me choking on an icicle while a five year old boy tried to shove a caramel apple in my mouth.

A few minutes later, while I was lying on the bathroom floor covered in sweat, I remembered something that I had already known but keep forgetting.

Children are sadistic.

I’m telling.