Another piece of carrot cake, please?

1983. I've found the best carrot cake recipe in the entire Universe and have already slivered off the equivalent of a whole row of cake. I can't stop. Its moist sweetness calls me from all corners of the house, seductively whispering my name. I can't stop. I scoop more walnut/pineapple/coconut/cinnamon goodness into my mouth, feeling it water as it hits the lemon tartness of the cream cheese frosting.

I've just lost 20 pounds and can't gain it back again. I've made a vow to practice self-control. I scoop the carrot cake into a baggie and walk it out to the garbage can in the alley behind our house. There.

10PM. I can't stop thinking about the cake. I think of it in that garbage can, all by itself, lonely. I take my flashlight, make my way through the backyard to the garbage can, lift the lid, and...

I have not spent any unnecessary money for almost two months now. No clothes, books, purses, shoes, jackets, soap, makeup. Nothing. Nada. Nobody can believe it! I DID dogear that cute faux fur vest in Nordstrom's catalog, and Hubby even said I could get it. He encouraged me, even, but I valiantly said no, I'm not buying any more things.

The phone rings. It's Shirley.

"Missoni's out at Target - better get there fast - it's almost all sold out already."

I panicked. MISSONI! I'd forgotten! Crap! I LOVE MISSONI! Why? I don't know - why do people love to breathe? Those funky zig zags, those crazy 60's knits, all of the overpriced stuff you don't need - what's not to love?

"Buy 2 of everything" I frantically text to her as she's zooming to Target to see if there's anything left.

We discuss sizes and desires (no velour hotpants, please), and hang up.

"Okay, there's a cute blue skirt that would look really good on you," she says.

"GET IT!" I scream into the phone. "Don't put it down! Somebody else will take it away!"

I'm sweating now, nervous - there are still two scarves left, thank god, because I can't live without a Missoni scarf - I'd DIE! My Yeti feet won't fit into their shoes, so that's almost a blessing, really - one less product to think of buying. But there's a cute dress she's found for me, so by the time it's done, she's picked up two skirts, one dress, and a scarf for me.

I'm relieved, exhilarated, excited. We got our piece of history - we got some Missoni! But wait - she just spent probably $150 on clothes I'm going to pay her for, although technically the sneak part of me justifies it by pointing that I didn't buy anything unnecessary - SHIRLEY DID! No, won't work. I failed. Ate a row of carrot cake.

My daughter looks at me and says, "This doesn't mean you have to eat the whole cake."

I tune in to my body, and feel the whole opening in my stomach again. "What's the use? It doesn't matter anymore. I may as well just start buying things again," only I don't want to. Ironically, my daughter and I are now at Target, and I see the rows of Burt's Bees and makeup brushes and body washes and feel a tug, but I take a deep breath and keep walking to buy copy paper for my son-in-law. I have successfully not bought anything for myself at Target, but I still feel like I've failed, somehow.

I certainly don't NEED Missoni, and there will always be something else sparkly and glittery and once-in-a-lifetime right around the corner. I guess it's okay this one time, isn't it? If I brought everything back, 100 women would be grateful for the chance to buy buy buy. And what would that mean to me? Maybe I'll wait to see what she got. Shirley's got exquisite taste, dang her. Maybe one row of carrot cake isn't that bad. But if you see me getting out the flashlight to head to the garbage can, be prepared to stop me. It won't be a pretty sight.