Girl on the Brink: Surviving Desperate Times with Desperate Measures

ANN’S NOTE: A short bonus post. I usually take Saturday’s off. Now, off to the gym.

On the rare day that I stop at Starbucks to buy a $1.75 Tall coffee, I eye the iced lemon pound cake and bear claws.

Decadently good but sinfully bad.

I know enough about simple and complex sugars to know that a bear claw down my esophagus will result in a sugar rush followed by a hard crash—much like the amyl nitrite I used to pop in college when on the verge of an orgasm. (I don’t do any of that anymore, really.)

To me, bear claws and pound cake are the forbidden fruit, not the apple, of modern times. I resist because I’d rather have the fig-leaf curves of Eve than the symmetry of a can of Crisco.

So, I don’t indulge—in food. Men, work, now that’s a different story. Just like I can’t live without a job, I can’t life without a good man in my life.