I Can Eat Cake!

I can eat cake. I can eat it for breakfast. And lunch. Or, actually, I guess, technically, brunch. I realized yesterday that I was the kind of person who could.  I didn't know. I didn't think it was something I could, or would do. Not part of my normal eating routine. Not my self-image. I am a disciplined, smart, health-conscious eater. Have been for a long time.  I am not a person who eats cake. All day. Early in the morning. In the middle of the day. An irresponsible kind of person who just eats cake.

And not just any old cake. A big gaudy, over-stuffed chocolate cake, layered with cream, with strawberries, with thick butter-cream frosting. Also studded with these little buttery, creamy and sugary  doodads, colorful flowers, and little pretty things sprinkled on top. 

I just ate it. All of it. Ate it up.

And there was no guilt. No. I was surprised. I didn't know. I didn't  think I was that kind of person. And I was pleased. I was happy. I was actually giddy.  "I can eat cake!" And for some reason, it seemed like an important thing to know. I could do it, if I wanted to do it. And I did it.