Get Down, Make Love

I love carrot cake, y’all. It’s not really an ordinary kind of love, but a deep, sensual – almost lewd – adoration that sighs heavily with each velvety bite of cool cream cheese frosting in a thick, creamy layer on warm cake flecked with just the right amount of sweet carrot and raisins. Oh, carrot cake. How I long for your sweet spongy embrace.

The problem with carrot cake is that, as with cheesecake, I cannot stop myself with just one bite, just one piece, just ONE CAKE. I become consumed with unbridled desire for more carrot cake until I’m naked and panting, face down in a roomful of smushed cakes with a satisfied smile on my face as I finally succumb to sweet carrot-laden slumber. Maybe a stray raisin dangles in my hair, I don’t know. I just know that I can’t control myself, so most of the time it’s best that I avoid it altogether.

Mmm…carrot cake.

Enter Weight Watchers. You can imagine my squeal of excitement when I saw this just before I rang up my grapes and cherries at the checkout counter this morning:

Make love to me, carrot cake. For only one point, we shall enjoy guilt-free ardor!

(Seriously, I can’t believe I just used ‘make love’ in a sentence, even if it was only around carrot cake. Honestly, I’d rather talk about using sanitary napkins on my moist nipples for DAYS ON END than talk about making love in any sort of serious context. This stems not only from the fact that it is perhaps the smarmiest term ever, but also from a perpetual prank caller I had in my formative years – a gentleman who called at all hours and simply pleaded, in a too-high John Malkovich-esque voice, “Make love to me.”)

(Back to carrot cake lovemaking.)

(“Make love to me.” SQUICK. I can’t get it out of my head.)

(Also worth noting that although I got a decent camera, my picture-taking skills have not improved. I mean, is that a masterpiece or what?)

Seriously! One point! Carrot cake! God had spoken, or so it seemed, and before you chastise me that I so should have seen this coming, remember, I am the same person who bought FizzyFruit, because I honestly thought it would transform the way I looked at fruit forever (“It’s…fizzy! WOW I LOVE GRAPES!”). I am also the same individual who let my leg hair grow out for four or five weeks while I waited for the Sweet Simplicity at-home sugar waxing kit to arrive at my doorstep because I believed in my heart of hearts that I would never shave again (Never mind that a strip of wax got trapped in my ass, which required assistance from my roommate, just NEVER MIND) (Also, I keep seeing that story pop up as an urban legend, which infuriates me, because it actually happened to me, unsavory hair and all, and my only hope is that many others have suffered the same fate. At-home bikini waxes are not for everyone, is what I’m saying, not even a little).

Over the years, at least until I grew up a little bit at least, dear God, I’ve also bought a juicer, a food chopper and various and sundry informercial items, thoroughly believing their claims of miracle-working and fast-chopping and can-cutting knifing and most of all juicing, because like the JuiceMan, I was totally going to turn into Dick Clark and never age again. Ron Popeil and I are likethis. The As Seen On TV kiosk in the mall is my favorite place ever, really it is.

So you can imagine my (repeated, crushing) disappointment when I opened up the box and found this:

Does that look reasonable to you? Does that look like a piece of cake you’d like to have an intimate relationship with?

Really?

STILL?

Fine. I should note that I have freakishly small hands, for starters – seriously, my ring size is a four, and my wedding rings are almost too loose on me, which means I’m closer to a three and three-quarters, which is so small I’m embarrassed about it. But if that doesn’t sway you, let me demonstrate what happened after I took a bite out of it. Mind you, I was eager and excited, so it was a large bite, but it’s not like I was choking or anything.

Disappointment looms large, Weight Watchers. IT LOOMS LARGE.

But the cake – the waxy, miserable cake – it looms very, very small. And so, Weight Watchers carrot cake takes its place next to ineffectual wax, bad choppers and unused juicers. Shattered dreams, my friends. Shattered dreams.

*Queen. Because once I get something annoying in my head, I am unstoppable and I pick at it like scab.

35 comments May 29th, 2007