The cold world of an addicted sweet tooth

I close my eyes and picture myself sitting in a room. The wooden chairs are in a circle. People, previously gathered out front smoking cigarettes and drinking Cokes, are now seated.

I stand.

“Hi. My name is Tom, and I’m an ice cream-aholic.”

Boy, I feel better already just admitting I have a problem.

The guy across the room, with the long hair and scrubby beard, his tattooed upper torso covered only by a black leather vest, shakes his head in acknowledgment.

I wasn’t always this way. Most of my life I was just a so-so eater and not too much into the dessert sweets. Sure, I’d venture off on occasion and have a banana split at a local ice cream parlor, but those days were few and far between.

About a year ago, after clearing up some medical issues, my appetite changed. And soon, ice cream moved to the top of my list.

Not just any ice cream ? Haagen-Dazs ice cream!

It started at the Laguna Beach home of my friends Ray and Sasi. Dessert that night came in a bowl and my life was changed forever.

Haagen-Dazs white chocolate raspberry truffle, to be exact.

It was, quite simply, the best.

In subsequent days and weeks, I found myself sneaking out of the house after dark looking for my fix. The closest dealer was the big Ralph’s at 17th Street and Tustin Avenue in Costa Mesa. It carried the white chocolate raspberry truffle in the small, two-serving container. Or one big serving, if you happened to be home alone.

Pretty soon my wife, Vicki, was hooked too. She was more than a co-dependent supporting my habit. She had developed her own.

At times, she was main-lining.

We found that different markets carried different lines of Haagen-Dazs.

One day, walking out of Promelis Market in Westcliff, I ventured past the ice cream freezer, knowing my supply at home was running low.

But, lo and behold, no white chocolate raspberry truffle.

I looked for a substitute.

Chocolate chip cookie dough. Haagen-Dazs, of course.

It soon became a fan favorite.

We found ourselves checking out other markets. The Ralph’s at Westcliff doesn’t carry either one, even though it’s our market of choice, or convenience, we’ll say.

In fact, they carry only the 12 leading sellers of Haagen-Dazs. The bigger Ralph’s down the street has the top 20 sellers.

The usual evening plan was to venture out and buy what we needed for dinner. We’d usually go to the store and start with the healthy stuff: Onions, peppers, squash, mushrooms, maybe some small white potatoes that I’d cut up and later cook on the barbecue.

Then to the meat area for some beef, chicken or the occasional piece of fish.

Once we were feeling good about how healthy we were, we’d venture toward the cashier ? right down the ice cream lane!

“You know what, honey?” I’d say. “I think tonight I’ll get some ice cream.”

“You think we really need it?” she’d reply, showing all over her face that she really wanted it.

“Just tonight,” I’d answer.

And so the dismal spiral into the depths of addiction took hold.

We both read James Frey’s “A Million Little Pieces,” made famous by Oprah Winfrey’s Book Club, and could totally relate to his life struggle.

Where he supposedly went to the dentist to have his teeth pulled without the benefit of drugs, I actually went to the eye doctor without the benefit of a bowl of ice cream first.

You can see the similarities.

And even though I’ve thought about quitting, I realize I’m too weak of character to do so.

My point with today’s column is to alert you, our readers, to the dangers of ice cream addiction.

And if I can get all of you to realize that and accept it, I’ve made the world a better place.

And besides, when I head to the store tonight, I know the ice cream bins will be full of what I’m looking for.