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Dear Cake, You Done Did Me Wrong

Hello all, here’s another of my entries into UndercoverL’s ad lib contest.  I already did this one about E.L. James (LINK DROP!)  I’ve recently found out that there may be cookies and sparkly ponies and a sarcastic mug with a mustache on the line.  Therefore there must be more entries on my part to insure my victory.  If you want me to stop writing these goofy letters, please put as many likes as possible on this post and the James one I link dropped ASAP.  I really want to win.  Thanks.  Oh, here’s my letter.  Words I filled in are in red.  This time it is to my other arch-enemy – cake.

I would even eat this cake.

I would even eat this cake.

Dear cake,

I have been trying to forget that I feel this way for quite a while, but I can’t pretend anymore.  I am really pathetic.  You know when you sit there looking all yummy and inviting?  Well, let me share how that makes me feel…  When you talk to me with your dreamy frosting eyes, I feel hypnotized.  Not so much hungry or even needing a snack when I eat you, but really, really obsessed with the need to cram you down my gullet.  It makes me want to puke when I eat too much of you.  I would like to think that I am not the only one who feels this way.  As a matter of fact, you know Fat Albert?  Well they told me that he has a cake problem too.

You know what they say:  If one person says you’re a snack laden with lots of yummy empty calories you can forget it.  When two people say you’re a a one-way ticket to Diabetes you might want to consider it.  When three people say you’re a real temptation to a 5 year old trapped in the body of a 37 year old with no self control, you might want to stop being so delicious.  It’s about that time for you, cake.  Think about that.

Since we are being so honest, there are a few other things I would like to air.  I hate it when you wear your buttercream frosting.  It makes me eat tons of you and then feel sick.

I also hate the way you are so available in vending machines.  Every time you appear in the lounge, I want to eat you in your fantastic chocolately glory.

Also, broccoli is not your real friend.  Remember that secret that you shared?  Well she shared it with everyone.  Now everyone knows you have no nutritional value and they all laugh at you behind your back.

I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.  I really like you.  I value our relationship.  But I cannot go on pretending those tummy aches and extra pounds hasn’t happened.  If you care enough about me and this relationship, I am sure you would agree to stop being delicious and irresistible and maybe start tasting like broccoli.

Still friends?

Fondly,

Alice