11:29 p.m.
Hungry. Looking for something tasty.
Why is it that the things I don't eat in the day look so appetizing late at night?
Fruit Loops squeak out my name from the cupboard. An "old maid" cookie begs me to rescue it from its lonely existence.
All the good foods went to bed hours ago. Apples and carrots tucked themselves in at dinner time. But the cheese, that little rascal, keeps trying to crawl out of its chilly bed into my warm tummy.
Even the popsicles, the kind I buy because I don't like them, tease me. "So what if we don't taste good? We're made with SUGAR."
You know me. I don't like to disappoint.
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