WEDNESDAY: The Icing on the Cake


Copyright is held by the author.

“DON’T DO it, Sam,” George said. “You’ll regret it. You know you will.”

I looked at him. The glint and lust in his shiny eyes were unmistakable. I could practically hear the saliva running down the insides of his chubby cheeks.

“It’s been three long days,” I replied, pressing my nose up against the bakery window. My breath left a foggy patch on the cool glass. Maybe even a bit of drool too. “I deserve it.”

“But think of what it’ll do to you,” George said, turning his back, apparently trying to ignore the sinful temptations that were calling out to us, demanding to be devoured.

“Oh, I am,” I said, then ran my tongue over my lips. “I’m thinking of how I’ll bite into that Boston Cream after I’ve licked the chocolate off the top and–”

“Don’t.” George’s eyes were wide, pleading with me to stop the insanity, but urging me to continue nonetheless.

“I’ll get all the cream in my first bite,” I said. “The whole lot.”

George let out a small groan. His forehead had taken on a moist sheen.

“In fact,” I continued in a low whisper as I stared through the window. “I might have two.”

George whipped his head around and I saw his hand tremble as he mopped his brow with a scrunched up Kleenex.

“I . . . I suppose one little treat wouldn’t hurt,” he said, then looked at me. “Would it?”

I shook my head. “No, you’re right. We shouldn’t.” I sighed. “I’m sorry. I wish I had your willpower, George. I really do.”

“Ah, willpower, schmillpower.” George waved a hand. “We can be good for the rest of the week, right?”

“We-ell . . . what about the group’s weight loss rules? Skinny Sue will be furious if she finds out. You know how strict she is.”

“Oh, come on, Sam. We deserve it. You just said so yourself.”

I hesitated. Then said quietly, “Only if you’re sure . . .” The words hung in the air like a cloud of sugar dust.

George took three purposeful steps. He pushed the bakery door open so forcefully, I thought the glass might shatter as it slammed shut behind him. The sweet aroma of delicious baked goods filled the air. My stomach rumbled.

Within minutes George was back outside with tell-tale signs of multicoloured sprinkles around his lips and two paper bags in his hands. He passed one bag — the smaller one — to me.

“Got you your Boston Cream.” His face looked as triumphant as a lion standing over its first kill.

“Gee, thanks.” I smiled back and patted my stomach, pleased at how much smaller it felt compared to a month ago. “I’ll have it later.”

George’s grin lost some of its wattage. “Oh,” he said. “All right then.”

“So.” I gave a small shrug. “See you at next week’s meeting?”

“Yeah,” George said, his stubby hand already plunging back into his bag of gooey goodness. “See you.”

I laughed as I walked to my car.

Then I tossed the paper bag with its contents into the trash.

No way would he be lighter than me again next week.

No way.