Let me eat cake.

There’s a white, frosted party cake sitting in my kitchen. 

I’ve had three pieces since I brought it home.

I feel okay about that.

You see, I’ve been thinking about white, frosted cake for literally days.  Daydreaming about it.  Thinking about how sweet and soft the frosting is, how the crumbs would gather on the back of my fork. 

And then I realized how lame I was being.  Hugh Laurie is somewhere out there in the world and I’m fantasizing about cake?  To heck with that!

So, I went to the store, bought the cake, and ate three pieces.  It was awesome.  Now it’s sitting in the kitchen and I’m not thinking about it anymore.  There’s lots of it left and I may eat it or I may not, but at least it’s no longer getting my attention and energy to a degree it doesn’t deserve.

I think I’ve secretly de-legalized a lot of really yummy foods and they’re taking on that gleam of the forbidden.  So, looks like I have some stocking up to do and then I’m free to devote my mental energy to once again to one Gregory House.