I’m not ashamed…but I should be.
***This is a post from earlier this year. I am reposting it because it could have been written yesterday…or last week…or today. This is mostly just sad for me, but hopefully it will be entertaining for you.
Grab a napkin and enjoy.
Ew. Not like that. ***
I know I should be mortified. I should be disgusted with myself. I know these things, and yet I feel nothing but satisfaction.
Maybe this is how Taylor Swift feels whenever she puts out a new album. (Sidebar: I secretly like most of her songs, but I will never publicly admit it. She’s just a country girl looking for love.)
Anyway, back to me, where the focus should always be. (That rhymes.)
Why am I ashamed? Because I ate an entire container of mini cupcakes.
Impressed? You should be.
Granted, it wasn’t in one sitting, but it was within a 24 hour period, which I find both depressing and exciting. The fat girl in me is proud of the accomplishment while the skinny girl in me is horrified and repulsed.
Fortunately, the skinny girl in me is squashed and practically crushed by the fat girl, so she can shut the f*#k up and keep her opinions to herself. (She also needs to eat a ham sandwich.)
I’m saying this is a good thing and I don’t care what skinny people say…not even my husband.
I didn’t do this tonight, but did it about 2.5 weeks ago. As my loving blog followers know, I recently had surgery and had evil Stan the gallbladder removed.
That’s a pretty big deal, or at least that’s what I’m telling my husband.
I don’t ever want to move anything, lift anything, or carry anything ever again so I’m going to ride this surgery into the ground…or at least ride it to the store where I will stay in the car while he runs in to get milk because “I’m just so weak.”
This whole surgery thing is a built in excuse for life…or at least for a few months.
Either way, I legitimately had surgery and I have the scars to prove it. They are both physical scars from the incisions and what I assume will be emotional scars that will come when I get the bills and realize I need a second job to pay them. (I’m thinking something where I get to wear a uniform…but not a hat.)
Due to the physical and emotional trauma my body sustained, it needs time and energy to heal from the invasive surgery.
What better way to heal than with some pre-packaged chocolaty goodness from Target? It’s the perfect medicine.
I know people say laughter is the best medicine, but those people haven’t tried these cupcakes. They’re wayyyyy better. (Incidentally, I also discovered through this whole gallbladder thing that Percocet is also the perfect medicine, assuming you don’t mind constipation, of course.)
The cupcakes were amazing, and I contend they were good for me too. I mean, the sustenance my body received from eating an entire 12 pack of mini cupcakes can’t be quantified.
Okay, well maybe it can technically be quantified by calories, fat, and number of tears cried when I realized I ate them all.
Whatever. Each bite was more savory than the last, and if I had it to over again, I would absolutely eat the whole container again.
Actually, the only thing I would do differently is this time I would buy two containers. Isn’t two always better than one? (Except when it comes to STDs. In that case, I would say one is better than two. I would also say get to the clinic and get that taken care of, you dirty dog.)
So the next time you’re at Target and come across containers of mini cupcakes, grab one. You won’t be sorry. Then bring it to my house so I can down them all in one sitting. After all, you didn’t even get me a “get well soon” gift.