Oh why oh why oh why do I do this? Why do I feel the urge to confess my misdemeanors in this way?
You see I've done a bad thing. No really. It was a crime against my already ample thighs.
I made mushroom soup. It was quite delicious but after a vat of it, I just wasn't satisfied. So I had a few strawberries and rooted around the fridge and nibbled on a piece of cheese and ate a slice of smoked ham and then I saw it. A gold wrapped easter egg belonging to my son and lurking forgotten in the salad drawer. I saw it and I swear demons possessed me.
Readers I bashed it as one would bash a person who had made a person very angry. And I felt a teeny thrill when it shattered in the foil. So I emptied it onto a pretty pink gilt edged plate and then because I figured in for a penny in for thirty pounds (directly to my bum), I delicately poured double cream into a matching gilt edged teacup and used the shards of chocolate to scoop up oodles of cream and nearly fainted with pleasure.
I know. My name is Alison and I am disgusting.But the cream was organic. So thats alright then.
Now I am going to bed to wallow in my blubber and dream of the day a man, a glass of wine, a new pair of shoes or unexpected buried treasure provides me with a thrill on the scale that chocolate spoons full of double cream gave me tonight.
I am you see, a women with all the vices...