The other day, I was feeling PMS’s gentle onslaught knocking at my uterus door.  I purchased fresh flowers, a bottle of champagne, and a cheesecake covered in chocolate icing.  Because there’s only myself left to get romantical with, and now that I’m single again, well, hell, I can eat shit like chocolate-icing covered cheesecake.

 Jealous?  I know you are.  Give the elliptical a nice fondle for me, will ya?

In my opinion every cheesecake should be labled “Cheesecake for One”, in a nice, friendly font, like a 26-pt. Comic Sans MS, with a smiley face next to it.  I’m just sayin’.

For the record, I would just like to add at this present juncture in time, that I shared one piece of my cheesecake with my no-child-support-paying Baby Daddy.  Sort of as an apology for the previous week of rage.  But just one piece, ’cause I may be a bitch, but I ain’t crazy.

So now I’m sitting here at my desk, working away, and realize it’s getting close to lunchtime.  By “getting close”, I mean “11:30am”, and by “lunchtime” I mean, well, how much have you been paying attention, really?

So there was 2/3rds of a cake in the fridge yesterday, and around midnight, I started feeling a little sorry for myself.  “I can’t eat an entire cheesecake”, I sensibly reasoned with myself.

So I didn’t.  I just had a little piece.

And then I ate all the icing.

And through the wonders of time-lapse photography, here it is, approximately three seconds after this post.

Lunch over.

Don’t be a hater.