We need to talk about the traumatic experience of someone eating your food.

We need to talk about the traumatic experience of someone eating your food.

Let me set the scene. The day was yesterday. I had just finished up at a job and it was time to celebrate.

I walked up the street (#fitspo) and bought myself a small Ben and Jerry’s tub of chocolate fudge brownie ice cream.

(Note: This post is not sponsored by Ben and Jerry’s. But…can it be? Can I get free Ben and Jerry’s? Please?)

The feeling of it in my hand as I left the shop was nothing short of magical. I think I actually smiled at it. I lent down and whispered to it, as though it was my newborn child, “mm I’m putting you in the freezer for later.”

When I got home I did indeed put it in the freezer for later. Now, I can forget to send emails, make phone calls, book appointments and make my bed, but I will NEVER forget to put my ice cream in the freezer.

I thought about it all night. I fantasized about it…sitting there…getting more frozen. I got my things done. I smiled intermittently…as though I had a secret that no one else knew. Which I did. Because I hadn’t told anyone else it was there, because I’m not an idiot.

Anyway. It got to precisely 9:26pm and I thought “oh yes, this is the perfect time for my dessert”. So I made my way to the freezer.

There it was. Just where I had left it. Sitting on top of some frozen pea’s that I swear we’ve had for like two decades. But none of that mattered.

I grabbed it with my hand.

And I knew something wasn’t right.

It didn’t feel right.

So I opened it.

It was virtually all gone. Except for this slippery mess of melted ice cream that looked like backwash.

I can’t explain the emotions I felt at that moment.Disappointment. Anger. Hopelessness. Madness. Fear.

Ross knows EXACTLY what I’m talking about:

My Dad happened to be in the kitchen at the same time. With tears in my eyes I explained to him what had happened.

He definitely did not give a shit.

So I made my way into the lounge room and accused one of my brothers. He said he hadn’t done it but he knew who had.

It was Jack. I knew it was Jack. He has always been a bit…sick. A bit…sly. A bit…dishonest.

He said he didn’t know it was mine. He proceeded to laugh at my very real emotional outpouring, along with the rest of my family, even though what I was going through was clearly a normal human reaction to trauma.

It is one thing to eat someone else’s PROPERTY, but it is another level of psychopathy to put it back in the freezer. With the lid on it. With not even a full scoop of melted ice cream left.

Have I forgiven him? No. Am I okay? Absolutely not. I don’t even know what to do with all the feelings.

I am not alone in having had this experience. Many have fallen victim to food theft, which is almost worse than actual theft, because of the emotional investment in the stolen item.

Just this week in the Mamamia office, someone was robbed of their apple after spending an entire meeting thinking about it.

Another young woman was once given a Cadbury crème egg for Easter, only to have her brother open it, insert a straw and suck out all the internal goodness. He then wrapped it back up and returned it to her bedroom.

So I am calling for an intervention – a movement if you will.

I dream of a world where the food I buy and look forward to remains untouched, no matter how long it sits in my fridge. I dream of a world where hours of excitement and anticipation do not end in unparalleled disappointment. I dream of a world where I have control over my snack food, and do not have to live with constant anxiety and fear that it could disappear at any moment.

To those who have stolen; shame on you.

And to those who have fallen victim to this heinous crime – know that you are not alone. May the injustice that has befallen you serve as a reminder for whom in this world you cannot trust. Together, by sharing our stories of pain and suffering, and declaring to the world that this kind of behaviour is unacceptable, surely we can look forward to a future where a tub of Ben and Jerry’s results in the joy and ecstasy it was intended for, rather than serious trauma.