Don’t Blame The Cake

I’m starting to lose my faith in God. I’m starting to believe that there may not be a big smart someone up there guiding me and protecting me because if there were he would have made Chinese food – dietetic. If there were a God – ice cream would not make me feel whole again and french fries would not call out to me saying things like “eat me I’m just a potato how unhealthy can that be?”

But he didn’t. God made everything that’s bad for me – delicious and intriguing and all of it available to my naked eye which is a weird expression because if my naked eye sees me naked it’s actually the best food deterrent there is. I mean – one morning look in the full length mirror naked and bam! I’m back on a diet faster than you can say – wow, I didn’t know you can have arm cellulite—w hich by the way is just another cruel joke from the man upstairs. I mean – couldn’t he have spared our arms from the dreaded fat and would it have killed him to give both men and women cellulite and don’t tell me men get it too because one dimple on your thigh does not equal the shit storm of what’s happening on my ass which lowered down to my thighs at forty and is now floating dangerously close to the back of my knees now that I’m in my fifties.

Fuck – I’m in my fifties. When did that happen? These days it seems like the second you turn fifty, every month of a woman’s life is equivalent to a dog year which is equivalent to 7 years of a human life. I don’t know if I did the math right but I’m sure it all adds up to the same thing – aging sucks – and the ability to not smother my feelings with pan fried dumplings isn’t helping matters. If slippery shrimp were the gateway to weight loss, wouldn’t life be just a little bit better? Why is everything delicious sending me back to the closet in my guest room where the fat pants live? Isn’t this something God could fix if he loved me and yes – I believe that the person who floats above me in the sky is a dude. They’d never give a woman that job. We’re far too emotional to decide who gets to live and die especially if you asked us on one of those days where we think everyone should die which is like Monday through Sunday. I’m sure God is however married to someone he passes all of his decisions through. I mean – the expression “behind every good man…” has to have started somewhere right?

If God were a woman wouldn’t we be the ones who get better with age? Wouldn’t men be saddled with sanitary napkins which by the way is an oxymoron and if God were a woman do you think the price of giving birth to a child would be a lifelong case of hemorrhoids? If that’s not the cruelest joke ever I don’t know what is. Didn’t we just shove a giant watermelon out a pea sized hole? Did we just make you a carbon copy of your mouth breathing self in our bellies? Did we not just hand you a small you? Did we really need to get something on our butts that never goes away and makes it impossible to sit on anything other than a rubber donut which is not a good look when you’re running a company. At least after giving birth, women have a good reason to finally just say no to anal sex. Nobody needs to see that and quite frankly – that ramp is closed. Mine is an exit only. I closed it after the first time a guy said – sorry wrong hole, I made a mistake. Really? No one makes that mistake. That’s a carefully planned attempted entrance. You’re a fucking liar.

But the truth of the matter is if God were a woman, cake would be zero calories and I know I’m not alone in my love of cake because just last night while enjoying a plate of food I should have just stuck directly to my ass without ingesting because that’s where it will end up – my friend Maria said the smartest thing ever. She said – “never put cake in the refrigerator. If you can’t finish it – it’s your fault. Don’t blame the cake.” I hope the first woman who runs for President uses “don’t blame the cake” as her campaign slogan. She’ll get my vote. And we may not be able to get the job of God but if we could get some tits and a vagina running things in the white house I’m pretty sure I could get some cold sesame noodles that have zero calories and really isn’t that what life is about?

And if you haven’t already – please buy a copy of my book with more fucked up thoughts like this.

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12 thoughts on “Don’t Blame The Cake”

  1. I don’t blame cake. I blame double chocolate chip muffins. They are the cause of all the evil in the world.

  2. Cake should never be blamed, nor should the cook! Judging by your article’s picture, you think like Donna and I do: cake = dessert = chocolate! I KNOW chocolate was given to us by the gods to consume and achieve nirvana.

  3. I was actually just talking about this the other day! If the body is supposed to like things that’s good for it, wouldn’t fruits and vegetables taste better than chips and cake?

    I just don’t understand the universe. I’m going to ponder it over a piece of frosted cookie cake.

  4. Okay Heidi, lean in and put your ear very close to the computer. If you get close enough, you will hear the voice of God. She is saying, “Eat the cake.”

    You’re welcome.

  5. Sanitary napkins as am oxymoron….that made me chortle in menopausal delight. Thankfully I’ve not had a happy punctuation mark in a few years thanks to Bubbette and Earlene, the fibroid squattersi had evicted

    Great. Hilarious erasing

      1. Having settled into menopause quite a while ago, I have come to the conclusion that I am happy not cramping and bleeding every month.

        Of course, I don’t have hot flashes anymore. That makes a difference.

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