Of Madness and Muffins

Sigh. I am shamed. A weak, weak, weak woman. Where was that voice in my head when I needed it?

Step away from the Chocolate Chip-Peanut Butter Muffin, ma’am. That oozy, tasty, scrumptious, moist bit of muffiny heaven.

Dammit. Burp. Thank god I didn’t make a full dozen. I had to try a couple last night, just to make sure they were good. Had brekkie, of course, and the first one was so good… Then I needed dessert tonight. Tomorrow morning will be the final breakfast and a friend will be assisting me. Methinks I’ve blown my 2,000 calorie cap on this fine day. And my head hurts. My tummy feels happy, though, which isn’t helping the shame because, well, my tummy feels happy. Chocolatey-peanutty post-munchies bliss, really.

Weak, weak, weak. But I have a great defense! It’s PMS. Yay, for built-in excuse of PMS! Waitaminit! Fuck you, PMS, and the bad-assed pimped-up scale you rode in with ‘cos I’m gonna way 10 freakin’ pounds more because of your bullshit notion-spurring, “Duh, I have an idea. Three words: chocolate, peanut butter. If you make them, you will yum, Shoeless Joe might say.”

And I’m standing there between commercials, looking at the second muffin in the toaster oven. Sighing both hesitantly and happily, thinking, “Well, I already blew the day. What’s another muffin now? Besides, it’s PMS. Why fight it? Tomorrow will be a new day.”

Way to fight the dark side, Steff. But it’s a warm muffin of chocolatey-peanutty bliss getting oozy and deliciouser!

See? Pointless to fight it. Might as well have given in. While I have the chill shame of failure lacing me, the cavernous depths of my belly are still quite pleased with my actions, it would seem.

This, men, is PMS in all its hellish effectiveness. It plays on our soft underbellies and prods us with cheap-and-easy lil’ fixits to all our problems, from muffins to man troubles, that usually just make our lives more difficult. PMS makes us do crazy shit sometimes. Fortunately most of us, our “crazy shit” is tantamount to eating three muffins. Now and then it makes a woman cut off a penis.

Let’s hope yours is the muffin type. Fortunately your odds are good. Especially if they’re made with chocolate chips and peanut butter. Bran? Not so much.

It’s like they say, life is tough–get a helmet. I don’t beat myself up when I have a shitty food day like today. I just do better tomorrow.

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