The Three C's

I’m sitting here eating my cottage cheese, drinking my coffee, thinking about a cigarette.

Those have been my three c’s lately. There is no room for cream cheese covered carrot cake (pictured right), which is clearly five c’s and not allowed on the South Beach Diet (see below).

And one of my co-workers, a super-buff, super-worked-out, attractive, muscley fan of exercise brought in this carb containing cursed carrot cake yesterday (see above). He does this to me and ABB all the damn time. He should know better – he’s been supportive of our efforts to shed some pounds. Miss ABB counts her calories and berates me when I occasionally break down and have a meatball sandwich. I do give myself some leeway to eat (at least once a week), but in this past year, I’ve dropped 30+ pounds, taken 7 inches off my waist and started working out (with cigarette in mouth, naturally).

I’ve been back on my diet hard core and biking like a lunatic since Mardi Gras because it’s almost summer time and for once in my life, I’d like to wear a tank top. I’m not even aiming for shirtless – sleeveless is just fine, thank you.

But for the past two days, all I can think about is that carrot cake. It’s not that I really even want it, it’s just that it’s there...calling out to me...and I can’t have it...and it’s driving me crazy.

Well….my lunch break is over…I have some website work to do. And that carrot cake might just accidentally fall into the trash can. Better yet…it might just wind up perched outside his office, so that it falls on his head when he opens his door, or find its way to the seat of his chair (where he could accidentally sit on it). You’ve got a hungry homo and an angry black bitch here plotting a caloric counterstrike and it might get real ugly real quick.