The fat girl inside me loves this site. Sure, I'm not a fan of eating artificially sweetened this mixed with processed that, but in a pinch, really, I'll take 133 calorie creme brulee over 750 calorie creme brulee any day. These are not every day treats, but they are awesome substitutes and I AM A FAN. I have a fat girl inside me, and she's always trying to get out (or spread out), so I love the matter-of-fact acceptance that yes we would love to just eat all day. Of course we would. We won't, but let's admit that we'd like to. She admits it, so we can too.
What makes this even more awesome is clearly Hungry Girl views you as a close friend because mug cake is one of those well-kept girl-to-girl secrets that only a real friend will share with you.
It's like when you see a woman who clearly needs a Chi in her life and no one has told her. I always wonder, does she have no friends at all or is she such a colossal wench that none of her friends actually love her enough to pull her aside and share the secret?
There are certain things that only real friends share, like Philosophy invisible makeup, or where to get premium denim at rock-bottom prices, or the heads up on awesome shoes, or favorite books, or…that your extensions look like crap. (Do any exist that don't?) Though I have always thought it would be fun to dress up as a drag queen for Halloween. You know, dress up as a man dressed up as a woman. I could do it, I think.
Would that make me a fat girl inside a girl dressed as a man dressed as a woman?
I don't know, but pass me the mug cake!
At one sewing plant I worked at, the supervisor of the sewing line behind me only had two ways of dressing. Either she dressed as a square dancer -seriously, down to the petticoats- or as a street walker complete with fish net hose. I am so not kidding. So one year for Halloween, I came dressed as a square dancing whore. I had them rolling in the aisles. The following year I came dressed as the production manager. This woman was over fifty but she didn't wear anything without bows. Bows in her hair, on her dress, bows at the back, bows on her shoes, on her sleeves. The woman never met a bow she didn't like. So, I came in bows for Halloween. On my head, each shoulder, front waist, collar, taped to my shoes, I was covered in them. Glinda (production manager, definitely not the good witch) never wore bows again. I kind of felt bad about that, I was young and stupid.
I guess the nicer thing to do would be for someone close enough to her to pull her aside and say, honey, the bows are doing you no favors.
I think now I need to compile a list of girlfriend-to-girlfriend secrets.
Yum! Right now I think I need some mug cake therapy, so I'm going to go and have a look in the cupboards.