Since I had been craving cake all week, I thought it would be a good idea to bake a cake. I wasn't actually going to eat the cake, ok? I just thought it would be therapeutic to go through the motions of baking a cake. Then, I would throw it out and feel stronger than ever.
Except I forgot about my chocolate frosting problem. It's my kryptonite.
The cake called out my name. Literally.
I was powerless before the chocolate frosting. I listened, spellbound, to the cake:
Look, I can handle being called a fat bitch, and I can even handle being told I will die alone. But there is absolutely no way I would ever be caught dead in a pair of Old Navy jeans.
This is when I lost control and blacked out.
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