Declining the Snack.

I kept wanting a sandwich tonight. ‘Want, want, want’ it went, inexorably. But I reasoned that having a sandwich just because you want one is the start of the descent into perdition’s flame. Soon you will need to buy a bigger bed, and even then parts of you will hang over the edge. You will be unable to move around without the aid of something designed by a structural engineer. Access to ordinary cars will be denied to you because ordinary cars aren’t built to take such weight or volume. Children playing hide-and-seek will attempt to secrete themselves in the copious folds of your armpits. And people will faint at the sight of you without an intervening period of shallow breathing. I didn’t have the sandwich.