I Have A Confession To Make: Chocolate Cake

No, I didn’t eat chocolate cake. But damn it all to hell… I thought about it. Still. Again. Whatever.

This is how it goes: I’m sitting at my desk, diligently working. Or surfing. Or writing a blog post. Or whatever… just doing something that’s a variation of “minding my own business and not hurting anybody”… when the mass announcement comes through the corporate overlords’ email system:

“Chocolate cake in the main kitchen… Happy Birthday to Brad, Erik, and Tim!”

And before I can stop myself, I actually think, “I could just go have a bite.”

MotherFer!

Yes, I could just go have a bite, and the world wouldn’t end. But I don’t really want a bite.

What I really want is to for my outside to reflect the strength and commitment of my inside. To look superfit. And maybe just a little intimidatingly strong.

And I’m not there yet.

And I won’t get there eating a bite of motherf*cking chocolate cake everytime someone puts it within fork’s reach.

So riddle me this, dear friends: How much longer do you think it will be before I stop thinking, “I could just go have a bite.”?

Ever?

‘Cause I just get sick of the mental battle sometimes, ya know?