A Cautionary Tale

If, by chance, you ever find yourself basking in the afterglow of exquisitely satisfying conjugal coital bliss, and in that fuzzy, warm state of mind decide you would like a piece of pie, please, please, please, for the sake of yourself and all that is holy, heed the suggestion of your practical, all-knowing partner and just go to sleep without it.

However -

If your very wise and eerily intuitive partner gets toned to a First Responder call while you're still basking, and because he has to leave anyway you decide you may as well go ahead and get up and have that piece of pie, and while you're standing at the open refrigerator door, the Thanksgiving Day leftovers start to sound pretty darn good instead, whatever else on earth you may ever do, in this instance, just say no.

But if you don't -

And then rationalize to yourself that it won't be so bad because you're just going to get one tiny spoonful of each delicious, Thanksgiving-y morsel, but then it turns out that you have to even out your plate for aesthetic purposes, so you end up with a pile of food that would choke a horse, and then you have to choose between milk or a beer for your drink, please trust me in this, you will absolutely want to choose the milk.

Because -

Later on, when you're sitting on the couch with your empty plate of leftovers, your belly already starting to bloat from the gorging, and the radio goes off again with another tone so you know you're wonderful, lone-voice-of-reason spouse is not going to be home for at least another half hour to save you from yourself, you will use your previous beverage choice as an excuse to go ahead and have that piece of pie you wanted earlier so you have something to wash down with milk, and then you will have that piece of pie and glass of milk. And you will suffer.

Oh yes, you WILL suffer.