Self Restraint Is An Immoral Practice

A few months ago a few co-workers and I went out to dinner with one of our reps. First let me say that if it weren’t for this job, I would be eating street meat and .99 cent cans of soup all day, every day. I have been to some pretty incredible restaurants in this city, ones I could never afford myself. So thanks, Job, for the experience and the expanded waistline. High five.

This particular night we headed to The Striphouse, where I had some of the best steak of my life. Not only that, but if I recall, the goose fat mashed potatoes were made by Jesus himself BECAUSE THEY WERE THAT HOLY AND DELICIOUS AND TOTALLY DESERVE TO HAVE THEIR OWN CHURCH SONG. Jesus also looks great in a chef’s hat.

When out to dinner with friends, work not involved, I find the idea of dessert repulsive. Why subject myself to the pain and torture or a brownie sundae after pounding through a bloomin’ onion and chicken fajitas? I know, I know…because it is a brownie sundae. But sometimes I sin and just can’t go on.

Work dinners, though, are a different thing entirely. Seafood platter for an appetizer? Yes please. Huge ass steak made from cow gods? Two, thanks. Alcoholic grown up drinks? You’re wasting valuable time asking that question when you could be pouring my vodka tonic, sir.

Once dessert time comes around, my contractions are now 8 minutes apart and I decide that this is it, this baby is coming now, that somehow yes I am pregnant and it has decided to come now, in front of all these people and all their steak, because what else could be causing this interior shifting of organs? Certainly not the 4.5 pounds of food I just inhaled. Don’t be silly. So yes, we will get some chocolate cake. And some cheesecake, too, because why not. Two pieces of cake for the table would be great and totally not gluttonous in the least and is the best idea any of us have had ever. And more wine, please.

Lisa loves cake.

John loves cake.

Ryan, Lisa and John all love cake. And wine.

That is a 14 layer chocolate cake accompanied by a cheesecake slice cut from a cake approximately 5 feet in diameter. Do you see how each piece is as BIG AS MY HEAD? My head is very big, don’t be fooled, it dwarfs most other objects. But when put in context to these SLICES of INDULGENCE, it seems normal.

I don’t care where you are from or what you know or what you have done in your life. All that matters is that this exists, and maybe you should not eat for 2 weeks and attend. And consider yourself LUCKY, internet. Because I’m warning you about this. The waiter? Not so much with the warning of the mutant cakes. More so much with the placing of the cakes and the enjoyment of our initial reaction to the horror of it all.

That cake was never finished. And I think I killed my baby with sugar and meat. So it was a disappointing night, to say the least.