It is rather deceiving, don't you think? The way certain things present themselves plainly and yet so alluringly. Like the way that pair of stiletto heels sits in that shop window perfectly poised, telling you that they would elongate your legs and lift your butt and make you look absolutely stunning. Yet, when you put them on and wear them for five minutes, you realize that they not only elongate your legs and lift your gluties, but they kill your feet. You quickly remove them from your feet, disappointed in how those shoes left you feeling.
It is like that warm summer's day when you have been outside all afternoon working in the yard underneath the hot sun. You head inside for a quick break and to enjoy a refreshing fudge-sickle. Once inside you walk to the freezer, only to find that the only thing remaining inside that is related to a sweet, refreshing, fudgey treat is the bag in which the fudge-sickles came in... and it is empty.
This is my relationship with chocolate cake. It sits on my counter, taunting me with its delicious and sweet chocolate cream frosting, the moist and fluffy cake with the delicious chocolate flavor, and the tantalizing aroma wafting through the kitchen. My willpower wanes as I walk closer and take a whiff. Sooner than I realize, I've cut myself a slice and am enjoying it at the table. The first piece is divine and it leaves me wanting more. I then talk myself into having another slice, but making it smaller. It doesn't quite satisfy the want for more, because I then move onto a third piece. As you can tell, it is a long and horrible cycle that ends with me sitting at the kitchen table, much too full for comfort. I regret eating that much, and despise chocolate cake for the next few days.
Once those few days have passed, I then realize that my butt and thighs are noticeably larger than before. I think to myself, "Well butt and thighs...say hello to your biggest supporter: chocolate cake."
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