Chocolate Cake Knows My Name
Chocolate cake calls to me in the middle of the night. It is locked in the refrigerator and knows I am thinking about it. I turn the page in the thriller I am reading and hear the cake whispering my name. Why did I bring it home? I must have been out of my mind with visions of its chocolaty sweetness. I clearly remember seeing it in the bakery window, its glossy brown glaze twinkling at me, promising me rapture. I can control myself, I chant to myself all the way home. I can have a small sliver before dinner. I’ve been good all week. Just that one candy bar at my desk on Monday afternoon. Hey, I didn’t buy it on Monday, I just found it under some papers in the top drawer. It called me, too. But I ate it before it could finish the sentence.
Oh, yeah, sidetracked again by the memory. Back to what I was promising myself: I can have a small sliver before dinner. No, wait. If I eat a salad, or some soup, and have a really good healthy meal, I can have a medium slice of that delicious chocolate cake after dinner. On second thought, if I just have the salad, I will be cutting way back on the calorie intake, so I should be able to have a very large slice of chocolate cake. And if I stand up while I eat, even the salad calories will be cancelled out, so it will be like eating nothing at all. And if I’m going to eat nothing for dinner, I’m going to need two slices of that chocolate cake. I can’t let my blood sugar dip too low from eating nothing. I need to take care of myself. I’m going to need the calories from that cake just to keep going. I could be depriving myself of sustenance. Someone might accuse me of trying to starve myself if I don’t eat. I don’t want to be accused of an eating disorder. So I had better eat the chocolate. In fact, I need to have at least one witness to the fact that I am actually eating. So maybe I should have my cake at the table in the breakfast nook and open the curtains so that at least one neighbor can see me eating the chocolate. No, what if the neighbor wants a slice of cake? This cake is all that is keeping me alive. I could take a picture of me eating the chocolate cake. I could post it on Facebook. That might look weird. I could twitter about how good the cake was. Hmmm…decisions, decisions.
You know, if I really cared what people thought, I wouldn’t have bought the cake in the first place. I would have bought a gym membership. I could be exercising my thighs off right now instead of dreaming about a chocolate cake. I could be spinning endlessly or on the treadmill, or doing some cardio. God I’m so tired thinking about exercising. And I’m so hungry. There’s the fork. Wonder how long it will take me to eat the whole thing?
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