Immobile—my heart stops dead in its tracks. I know I play a dangerous game.
Close proximity to the object of my desire might prove the death of my long held dreams.
Retribution for my act of defiance
will surely come in the morning.
I sigh. One more Oreo won’t hurt, will it?
Maybe I won’t step on the blasted scales tomorrow.
Maybe I’ll let my diet take the day off.
An early Christmas present. Or birthday present.
