Something to consider before that voice in your head wins the debate and convinces you that there is indeed solace to be found in a good old-fashioned round of trance-eating…

The Pillsbury Dough Boy never visited my kitchen

Never meandered onto the counter top to smile, while

Offering up his white, soft belly for a poke.

All I had was a can –

Slammed open for dough that oozed like a snake

Shoved in the oven for my Joy…my sanity

30 minutes later the oven is cold

And I am sticky, sluggish, and empty

The tattered container of cinnamon bun dough

Lies on the counter, uncoiled

Like a used grenade.

The after-effects of denial are undeniable