Miss Friday with her white coat on has arrived again. She is cold and shows no signs of showing any mercy today at all. Brrr, please Spring come early.
Well, I made it through yesterday. I may very well be five pounds heavier. In fact I am sure of it. I learned a valuable lesson. Self-pity and Birthday cake do not mix. At least not in my case. I better have learned my lesson because I might not survive another yesterday.
The day started off not too bad. The Birthday hung over my head though like a black cloud. But I got up from bed still able to move, I made coffee, wrote on my Blog. This old Birthday won't get me down I bragged to myself. At about six my sister called. Seventy jokes, a little song. I smiled, I laughed. I'll make this I thought. Then my daughter called. She didn't even rub in my age. I sat in the rocking chair by the fire. That is what old ladies do isn't it? Then slowly the self pity came knocking. Opening up the door I yelled, "Come on in." The trouble started from there.
I wouldn't be able to get out. One lone Birthday card set on the television. My sister had sent it. I had gotten one present. My sister sent it early at my insistence I should add. There would be no brightly wrapped gifts, no songs, no cake. Tears stung my eyes. How long had it been since I had a birthday cake. !995. Sixteen years. Pity really did flow then. I was alone. Only The Emperor around. There would be no cake or presents coming from that source.
Jumping up from the rocker I rushed to the kitchen. Digging through the cabinet I came across a cake mix and a half bag of coconut. By dang I would have a cake. The world might not care, but I would have my cake. I couldn't get the oven to light. I hurried to the roaster oven, turning it on I put the cake in. I burnt it. Taking out my sad cake I cried. Without even icing it I tore off the end of the cake and wildly stuffed it into my mouth. By then I was to far gone to reason with. I would cake myself to death I thought. After several minutes of stuffing the dry, burnt stuff into my mouth the heartburn set in. I heaved a sigh. I could not even overdose on cake. I was a loser. A old loser at that. I stumbled back to my rocker. I set there in my birthday despair.
The phone rang. It was Smiling Bud, my Brother. He hadn't forgot my Birthday. "Happy Birthday," he said. He told me he had a card for me but would have to wait for the snow to go before he could bring it in. I assured him that was fine. Then before he hung up he dropped the bomb. "You know what they say about turning seventy don't you?" I was afraid to ask. He told me anyway. "They say when you turn seventy you are officially elderly." I groaned. Smiling Bud doesn't lie. Back to the kitchen and another round of cake.
Hours and much of the cake later I found myself in a sugar daze. I decided maybe I better try to lose the pity and move forward with my life. But by that time I was too fat to move. The moral to this sad tale is, Don't bake yourself a birthday cake when you are feeling blue. I am better today. I am hoping this cake binge will rid me of my "Little Debbie," addiction. But I truly doubt it.
The words I pull out of my pocket this morning are written with guilt. Today I am truly ashamed. I hear noise's. I look around. I see nothing. I hear it again. Good grief, its pigs oinking. They even know about me in Blogland. They know I am a pig. In shame I start running. I'm outta here.
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