I’m not sure if it’s the shift in weather from being a sweltering forty-plus hot box to a cold and drizzly tween but I most definitely have the urge to eat.
And when I say eat I don’t mean nibble.
I want to eat doughnuts and Minties and Golden Gaytimes and white bread with hundreds of thousands sprinkled on top. And then for main course I want Maltesers and Kinder Surprises without the surprise, and lots (and I mean lots) of Nutella. If by some miracle my body was able to cope with this toxic array of chemicals and cholesterol, then I would happily gorge on all things fast-food because it made me one happier than happy chickadee.
But the truth was that I couldn’t walk past a Snickers bar without spots coming out on my face, and as peachy as my caboose was, it didn’t need to be any more fruity.
So unfortunately walks to the office will be via the long way so I can bypass the vending machine’s whispers and limit my cravings to a wholemeal sandwich, an apple, and a celery stick smothered in peanut butter.
Ms doughnut-dreaming M.
