The Tale of Cinnabon

My daughter has been moving this week and continues popping in with things of mine that she ran across while cleaning. A platter, a lasagna pan, a coffee cup...Finally gathered together and brought back to where they were borrowed from.

But along with those things, she inadvertently left an unfamiliar plate behind on my kitchen table.
It was covered with foil.
"I know you're on a diet", she said, fleeing out the door once again ,"but it won't hurt you."

After the dust settled, I peeked beneath the foil, curious what insignificant, harmless morsel of a treat may be waiting.

It was a "Cinnabon".

For her to think it wouldn't hurt me would be like asking Edward Scissorhands to scratch my back or Dracula to kiss my neck. It was asking for trouble. It was trouble. And I knew there wasn't room enough in my kitchen for the both of us.

I circled it a few times- attempting to scrutinize my enemy. Deciding to approach it slowly instead of making a hasty mistake.

There it was -"Cinnabon". Even the name sounded evil. No good could come of it, I was sure.

It lay there all coiled up in a perfect roll- ready to spring forth all it's cinnamon-y goodness to those less stronger than I. (To those dieters that hadn't started their journey yet.)

But I knew "Cinnabon" had to be alleviated. I knew it was here to harm me- to dig deep into my willpower and destroy me. I wasn't going to let that happen. Even if it meant extreme measures.
Even if it meant sending that beautiful mound of dessert to the landfill.

Cinnabon was watching me. too. Trying to look all sweet and innocent- attempting to disguise all the calories and fat that was coiled up in it's delicate face.

But, then I saw the fear. Cinnabon was beginning to sweat- it's gooey white frosting dripping in thick puddles around the plate- the cinnamon slipping from the rings of yeasty dough in obvious defeat.

I reacted quickly. I lassoed it up into a hangman's noose and pitched it into the trashcan. Then, for good measure I smothered it in warm coffee grounds and onion peels. I was certain then that it wasn't coming back. Cinnabon could never hurt me now.

Then I drifted off into the sunset with my Ab Roller. I had an extreme sense of satisfaction-
knowing I had made the kitchen a safer place. Knowing I was strong enough to fight- and win.

Be brave.
Fight the Fat.
Never let anyone tell you that it's not gonna hurt you.
Because it will.