Not getting to the point very quickly

There is a birthday in the office today... and cupcakes. Yellow cake with vanilla frosting and yellow cake with chocolate frosting. This is not good for my diet. They're not even good cupcakes as far as cupcakes go. This isn't Sprinkle's, it's not Susie Cakes, they're not even real homemade. I mean, sure they were made in a home, but they're from a box. And the frosting is from a can. I've been into "from scratch" lately, and these were far from it.

I had one chocolate and half a vanilla after lunch, then over the next two hours I decapitated another vanilla and a half for their frosted tops only.

A little while later, because I'm clumsy, I smashed my finger in a cabinet and in the process of getting some ice in the kitchen I spotted the cupcakes again, which are obviously comforting. So I skedaddled out of there with a big bad vanilla to ease my pain. Let me tell you, it's not easy to ice your right middle finger and eat a cupcake simultaneously. It's just not easy. After I scarfed it down, I was feeling the kind of guilt that only happens when you forget how many cupcakes you have had. I've since calculated, but at the time I was blocking out the gluttony.

I moved on and through some sequence of events not relating to my job, I found myself reading and article in the advice column, Ask E. Jean about a husband who refused to buy lingerie for his wife who had wanted him to do this for many years and thinking about my cupcake-eating self in lingerie. I was not happy about this concept, and decided to go directly to the gym followed by bed without dinner.

In theory, I would like a man to buy lingerie for me. Theory, including the assumption that it is nice, tasteful, and "me". I feel silly buying it for myself and wearing it for someone else, but if it were given to me, that's another story.

But the real story here is that all of this led me to the horrible memory of a lingerie exchange between two senior citizens.

I was visiting my grandpa a few years ago, when he first started seeing his skanky new (but not young) girlfriend, Lila... that hussy. He took me to meet her and her leopard print house, where my grandma's old cleaning lady, Sue, was taking care of her while she recovered from hip surgery. Like I said, not young. So we're all sitting around on the hiddeous couches and my grandpa pulls out this gift box and hands it to the old (ho) bag. She opens it up and pulls out a LACY BLACK SEE THROUGH THING AND A MATCHING THONG. The cleaning lady's eyes are bulging and I'm gagging and trying to think of a reason to die immediately while the other two are holding it up and touching it and smooching and generally doing everything you NEVER want to see your widower grandfather do. I was traumatized past the point of being able to erase this from my permanent scars.

At least I can say that matter how many cupcakes I have (well, to an extent), I would rather see myself in lingerie than a wrinkled old lady laying on her leopard print bed, replacement hip and all.