I don’t like you. You make me feel like shit.

You make my baby feel like shit, so I really don’t like you.

Wait. I don’t know if you make my baby feel like shit or not, but I am assuming so, because I now feel like shit post consumption of you.

In the future do not attempt to make eyes at me and lure me in. It will not work. Because, I simply don’t like you. Best of luck in your short lived future.

I actually wrote that out to the remaining chocolate cake sitting in our pantry. When TC called the other day, raving about his new chocolate cake, I was firm in my request to, not bring any of that damn cake over here.

Two hours later he was knocking at the door with half of it, saying how he couldn’t stop eating it and had to get it off his hands. Here’s the thing, People. I do not think of sweets if they are not infront of me. I don’t miss them. I don’t want them. I don’t care about them.

But have them in eyesight and hand reach of me and all internal hell breaks loose. To eat or not to eat it? Of course I eat it.

Now, granted, I did not eat a big piece by any means. And maybe I’m more annoyed that I had zero willpower to not eat it, even knowing it was going to upset my stomach but did it anyway. What is up with that? Why do we do that to ourselves?

Beating myself up about a small piece of chocolate cake consumption is pretty darn stupid in the big picture. It’s minuscule and laughable. So I’m going to let it go — for now.

And keep that note taped to the side of the refrigerator door. As my reminder that not everything we consume on an impulse is such a hot idea. The payoff is way too short lived for too big of a crash.