I ate four tiny candy bars and a big piece of cake last night. Why? All I can say is that another one of those ridiculous time bombs exploded! As I was setting the kitchen table last night, I suddenly knew I was about to eat a piece of cake; I knew it! The instant that first, wretched thought of cake entered my mind I should have told Allen, “I hear the bomb ticking. Help me tonight. Stay with me. Keep me out of the kitchen!” But no. I didn’t protect myself from me.
Get this: While the family was at the kitchen table waiting for me to put on the hot food, I actually put a piece of cake on a plate and sneaked it out of the kitchen into the dining room. When Allen asked, “Where are you going?” I answered casually, but with my heart racing, all the while embarrassed and ashamed, “Oh, I’m putting something away.” Ahhhh! He fell for it! I left the cake on the dining room table and walked back into the kitchen.
I kept a sharp eye on the dog, who might decide to run into the dining room, jump up on a chair, and eat my carefully smuggled cake! In a few minutes, I sarcastically asked if it was okay if I left to use the bathroom. Allen smiled, and the children laughed, just as I had hoped they would. The sarcasm worked; they all fell for it.
So I left the kitchen, grabbed my plate off the dining room table, locked myself in the bathroom, and ate that tasteless, dry, store-bought cake covered with greasy frosting. I didn’t enjoy one bite. It wasn’t a pretty picture: I was sitting on the only chair in the room, the toilet. I was stuffing my mouth because I didn’t have much time. And I couldn’t help staring at myself as I took each bite because there was a huge, wall-to-wall mirror directly in front of me. Yet I ate the whole piece.