Fuck you cupcake

I’m having cup cake issues: I can’t stop eating them. I also can’t stop thinking about them and, worst of all, I can’t stop seeing them every-bloody-where (including my dreams). Now I know I can’t be alone in this since it seems that every Tom, Dick and Harry (or their female equivalents) seem to be making them these days so there must be others who are having cupcake temptation issues. THEY ARE EVERYWHERE! So as I walk past the latest local vendor plying me with their wares (I don’t need to walk in the shop even – I can smell the fuckers as I walk past) I find myself justifying why it is that today I deserve one. Because I’ve done ‘x’, found ‘x’ emotionally challenging, feel a little bit ‘x’, … But the reality is that regardless of  ‘x’, ‘x’ and ‘x’, I know I’ll have one just the same. I am just plain addicted.

Cupcakes calling: what I have to pass daily to take my children to nursery

Cupcakes calling: what I have to pass daily to take my children to nursery

And suffice it to say that it is my waistline that has suffered1. By about 1/2 a stone in the last few weeks, and an inch or so in circumference. (Rough estimate.) OK, so I’ve not turned into a whale, but it’s just enough to stop my trousers from doing up and for my cheeks to have filled out to give my face a decidedly (full-) moon like appearance. And I don’t suit moon. So here’s the plan: I’m going to adopt the phrase ‘fuck you cupcake’ as my daily mantra and go on the cabbage soup diet for a week. Wish me luck. I’ll report back post cabbage.

1 Ok and my wallet, but I’m just having to ignore that.
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