SHOWING RESTRAINT

While at work today, I wasn't hungry enough to go with everyone else and get real people food so instead I perused on down BY MYSELF to one of the markets to get a little snack. I wondered the narrow aisle waiting for something to jump out at me, which is a literal possibility when you shove THAT much shit in THAT small a space.

Starring longingly into the refrigerated food case, mine eyes lit upon it, cookie dough! Glorious, wonderous, stupendous cookie dough and in my (cough) state, I had to fight every fiber of my being not to inject it directly into my veins right there on the floor and smear gobs of sticky tan goodness across my cheeks while flecks of chocolate chips fall into my hair as I convulse in my sugary coma. Raw cookie dough is not something you eat in front of disgusted coworkers. It is a dish better saved for the privacy of your own kitchen where the only disgusted looks are from your roommates at your refusal to share.

So, instead of embarrassing myself and in order to prevent my butt from ballooning until it would be impossible to exit a normal sized door, I opted for a steaming cup of hot chocolate WITH a more than healthy splash of caramel steamer. It SMELLED divine, but I showed restrain. I waited until I walked ALL THE WAY BACK TO WORK before partaking in the chocolatey caramel goodness. IT TASTED LIKE CAKE BATTER! OH. MY. GOD. Heaven should taste so good. If it wouldn't have been in bad taste, I'd have rolled in it (actually, I chose not to roll in it because I was wearing a brand new shirt AND I HAVE LIMITS PEOPLE).

SO, if you're within 100 miles of some cheap-o convenient store, say a 7-11 or something to that effect, GO! Go and bask in the glory that is drinkable liquid cake batter or, if you prefer, PMS CRACK COCAINE. It's an orgasm in a cheap, styrofoam cup (NOT THAT I HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT THAT'S LIKE, MOTHER).