Seriously, who puts a third of a slice of cheesecake in the fridge? I've been living with Kevin for almost twenty-three years and sometimes I don't understand him at all.
I had cheesecake for…
I had cheesecake for breakfast. Not, actually, because I have cancer, which has been my go-to explanation for various recent indulgences. But because somehow, bizarrely, a third of a slice was left in the fridge last night, and there is no universe in which, on discovering that fact, I will not immediately consume said cheesecake. Healthy Mary Anne and I are unshakably one in this decision.