It's Mardi Gras. Someone brought in New Orleans style king cakes and scattered them about the room. There's one on the counter top about 6 feet away. It's been calling my name all morning.
Then there was the meeting my department had this morning with the Dean. The head of the department brought pastry and doughnut holes. They joined in with the king cake, making it a chorus.
Dear oh dear. What's a Weight Watcher to do? Drink my water, eat my little 90-calorie-per-packet rice cake treats (which are surprisingly good. Chocolate mint), and pretend I can't hear the Pastry Chorus:
"Vee! Vee? We love you! We miss you! Veeeeeeee?!?"
Gum! A piece of gum will help. I'll chew that, and while that's in my mouth I won't want anything else. I hope.
Well, I had a teeny tiny piece of the cake, thinking that it was better to indulge a little then sit here and be resentful all day. It worked -- for a while. Then it started talking to me again.
What worked better was somebody coming by and wrapping the thing in aluminum foil, bless 'em. I'm not gonna break into that, making all kinds of noise.
About half an hour ago, someone spotted the baby in the cake. She pointed it out to me--you could see his feet. I started encouraging to the cake: "Push! Puuuuuush! Almost there. One more big one!" Cracked my co-worker up.