I got up reluctantly this morning, already dreading the inevitable stand-off between myself and the Costco box of Snickers in the freezer. Brushing my teeth, I stared myself down in the mirror.
"You are in control of your own breakfast foods," I told myself. "Eat the cottage cheese. You
love cottage cheese! If you don't eat the cottage cheese it will go bad. Don't be a cottage cheese waster."
"This isn't working," Mirror E replied. "There aren't any peanuts in cottage cheese. And there certainly isn't any nougat."
"Look," I snapped. "You're not doing it. Stop giving in to this hedonism! What, are you going to have a frozen Snickers every morning for the rest of your
life?? Show some control, Woman! Stand up to that candy bar! Snickers is a tool of the Satan!"
Mirror E had to agree. Snickers was, in fact, a tool of the Satan. This was made unerringly clear five minutes later when the freezer opened to reveal the Snickers wearing nothing but a black bikini, cowboy boots, and a really tiny feather boa.
The cottage cheese was wearing a two-day rayon number from Rampage that had a bacon stain on the hem. And plastic Payless sandals.
Tool of the Satan.
Not a tool of the Satan.
