Over the holidays, I had an affair.
A wild, messy, to-hell-with-the-rules kind of affair...with a cake.
This was not just any cake. I would never be so wanton. It was red velvet cake. My friend's homemade red velvet cake. It was left over from our Christmas Eve party.
I asked her to bring it.
I knew all along what I was doing.
I admit it: it was premeditated.
I knew after the guests had gone, the cake would be wrapped up nicely in foil and would sit in my refrigerator. And I would eat it. And not give a damn about the calories or the fat or the cholesterol or the Weight Watcher points each slice was worth.
"Guess what, Ben? We're gonna have cake for Christmas morning breakfast! How does that sound?!?"
Yep. I used my child as an excuse to eat cake for breakfast.
That wouldn't have been so bad if it had only been the one time. I mean, it was Christmas morning, for heaven's sake! If you can't have cake on Christmas morning...
But I proceeded to have cake again for the following two mornings. Cake. For breakfast. Me. My usual breakfast consists of bran flakes with almonds, flax, oatmeal, blueberries, and soy milk. And yes, I actually do enjoy that, but on velvet cake mornings? Fuck bran.
It wasn't just breakfast, either. I had it as dessert...after every meal, everyday, and sometimes for a snack. I had it down to a science: 5 days later, when the cream cheese frosting was hardening slightly, I simply nuked it. 7 seconds was too little. 10 seconds was too much. 8 seconds. Exactly 8 seconds. And the cake would taste like she had just made it.
It has taken me a lifetime to figure out my relationship with food. Over the last several years, I've realized, with great relief and satisfaction, that I've finally made amends with it. I have conquered it, if you will. A big part of this victory, however, is the complete and total understanding that I can gain it all back at anytime. What do they say? It's a slippery slope? Yeah, well, apparently, my slope's greased up with frosting.
I made it to my dream weight back in October. Soon after that, Life happened: Halloween festivities, sick children, sick parents, holidays, more sick children and sick parents...before I knew it, my gym visits had gone from 5 times a week to maybe once. This is the thing with weight. Life. It can get in the way. Needless to say, I am not quite at my dream weight right now.
So here I am, a couple of weeks later, still trying to forget my red velvet lover. It was a passionate, intense relationship and there are days when I miss the wild, reckless abandon. It was good while it lasted, but what is it Samantha says to Smith at the end of the "Sex and the City" movie? "I love you, but I love me more."
Yep. Me and red velvet cake. Samantha Jones and her hot young lover. Same thing.