Instant gratification is, by its very nature, self-indulgent, ephemeral and superficial - the scratching of an itch, the satisfaction of a passing whim - intrinsically devaluing its acquisition, with no lasting residue apart from vague feelings of guilt, an unwanted physical reminder of our indulgence and, perhaps, a nasty little rash.
I have never been a fan of instant gratification (putting aside, of course, those cornucopian days as a medical student in a large teaching hospital, where nubile young nurses in crisp, starchy, white pinafore uniforms and cute little white caps filled all four quadrants of my vision and imagination, and seemed to demand no less.
Those days have passed now, and in the past they shall remain. Their role as temptresses has been subsumed by my malt whisky collection, which is non-judgmental and passive, and makes no demands at all.
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