It wasn't mine. It was sitting on the counter. A half of a chocolate cake. Sitting in it's container, looking fresh, delicious, luxurious, a dark chocolate ganache, mini sheet cake. The label said: "moist, flavorful cake with a smooth ganache cream cheese frosting." Really? Decadent. I kept looking at that cake. It really, really looked good.
Of course, I "watch what I eat." I don't just sit down and wolf down a half of a chocolate cake. Dead Souls are calling me (see previous post), and that chocolate cake was calling me too.
"Maybe have just a little slice?"
I have incredible will-power, I really do. Until it crumbles, and then when it crumbles no will-power at all. That's kind of the addict's way, right?!
Oh man. I grabbed a knife and fork. Delicately, precisely cut out a little slice and devoured that in an instant. Pure pleasure. Right? Can't describe how perfectly that went down. Tantalizing my tastebuds, flooding my body with sweetness and goodness.
Oh hell. I cut another slice, and another, and another. Devoured the whole thing. That whole half a cake disappeared. It was satisfying. The container fully empty. A void. Void of cake.
That's how you do it. You eat that chocolate cake. Yes, you do. Damn the torpedos.
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