Cake.
Yesterday I caught a glimpse of a flabby gut in the mirror - something I had denied existed for a while, but due to a newly relocated, rehabilitated full-length bathroom mirror now residing in the bedroom, I could deny no more (cunt mirror). Literally that second, I threw myself on to the floor and did push-ups. I vowed from that day on I would finally begin P90X Proper, and lose that gut once and for all. Fast forward to two minutes ago, I am standing at the work fridge, examining the finger scrapes in a bowl that had once contained Carrot Cake frosting. I didn't even use a fork. I didn't even remove the cake from the bowl that also contained a piece of chocolate cake (now deceased). I just scraped it out of the bowl with my bare hands and shoved it in mouth with little disregard for aim. Even as I type this I can plainly see a piece of frosting still stuck to 'stache. I just reached in and grabbed it. I feel like one of those circus lions, holding it's trainers head in his mouth thinking: "come on Leo, think! How did I get from point A to point B. Did I black out? It was probably a black out". And then he just snaps his neck and goes for a tan.