I simply ignore the (ominous?) words, and carry on. Relishing each second spent on my luscious crème pastry, I pick at the crumbs left on the plate like a hungry bird zealously pecking till the last grain. Then, I turn to look at my friend.
Dressed in candy pink garbs, Roxanne matches the pink roses decorated on the small round table in the quaint coffee shop. An expression of incredulity is visible on her pretty face.
With eyebrows raised, mouth agape, she stares at me, and once again, exclaims, ‘God! Do you know how many calories you’ve just gulped down?’
‘Firstly,’ I begin, easing back into the cushioned wooden chair, ‘I hate to disappoint you, Roxanne, but I’m not God. And secondly, it is very rare that I indulge myself in such sweet luxuries.’ True.