Last night was my first night dining out on the diet. After scrutinizing the menu, I settled on a veggie burger with a side-order of steamed broccoli. When my meal arrived, I undressed my burger by stripping away the wholewheat bun and casting a foot away from me on a separate plate.
Now that my veggie burger was naked, I realized how thin the patty was. Not much thicker than cardboard. I knew I could not possibly make it through the evening with just the cardboard and flowers for dinner.
I insisted on going to the bakery next door for a non-fat caffeine-deprived latte that would not only begin to fill the void left by my dismal dinner but also satisfy my milk requirement for the day. That's when I fell in love with the richly frosted strawberry sponge cake that was sitting on the bakery's counter, waiting for a birthday party. The heavy white frosting, lit by the summer sun, was giving off a supernatural light.
As appealing as he looked, I did not take him home. Nor did I get intimate with him in any way. There is no such thing as a one-bite stand with a cake like that. You take a bite and then have to have another one . . .
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