Not one of my finer moments

Wednesday, March 28, 2012

I talk a pretty big game about how gluttonous I am. Every time I mention how my insatiable appetite could eat a man under the table you probably just roll your eyes and scoff, “Yeah, right” because I’ve lost a decent amount of weight and consider running an acceptable form of transportation. Well my friends, as of today, I have official, irrefutable proof that can finally silence the naysayers and put any lingering doubts to rest. 

When I came home for lunch this afternoon, I walked through the front door with blinders on, completely bypassing the leftover cupcakes I had sitting on my glass cake display plate. (Yes, I have a display stage for cake. WHAT OF IT!?) I made a beeline to the refrigerator and prepared a reasonable lunch before I settled on the couch for some TV, mentally applauding myself or making wise food decisions. After lunch, I cleaned up my mess, grabbed Joey’s leash and called him to the door for a walk. That’s when I accidentally made eye contact with the remaining purple cupcake sitting all by its lonesome on our kitchen table. 

I instantly started to feel bad. I couldn’t just not eat him, right? After all, Clay and I already ate all of his friends and family, and far be it from me to force this cupcake to endure life by himself in a cruel, unforgiving world. It was my duty to eat this cupcake. I was doing him a favor.

 I am such a saint.  

Within the same 2 seconds of accepting that I wasn’t leaving the house without eating that cupcake, I lifted the glass lid off the cake plate and looked my snack right in its sweet, frosted little face. “Come to Mama,” I said in a questionably seductive tone, feeling a small pool of drool forming in the corners of my mouth.

But that’s when I realized I had a conundrum.

In one hand I was holding the heavy glass lid and the other was holding Joey’s leash and my jacket.

I was out of hands.

How was I going to get this cupcake into my mouth? Putting down one of the objects in my hands certainly wasn’t an option.

Joey was looking at me expectantly, waiting to go on his promised walk.

So I panicked.

I took a deep breath, looked around to make sure no one was hiding in my apartment with a video camera and …

… I ate the cupcake like a dog.

Like.

A.

Dog.

Getting frosting up my nose and smudged into my eyelashes, I bent over the plate and all but inhaled the cupcake, using only my mouth like some kind of sugar-crazed vacuum cleaner.  My hands dangled awkwardly at my sides, holding the aforementioned objects and offering absolutely no help to the endeavor.

When I finally came up for air, I glanced at my reflection in the mirror hanging on a nearby wall. I had purple icing hanging out of one nostril and cake crumbs on my chin and chest.

It was shameful.

Even Joey looked mildly disgusted, and I’ve seen that dog lick a wall for no good reason.

On the upside, if the whole writing thing doesn’t work out, I guess I always have pie-eating contests to fall back on.  

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