my father always told me never to spoil my appetite for supper. but somehow i always managed to sneak in a cookie or two. for some reason the cookie always tasted way better before dinner rather than after.
imagine something catastrophic happening between the main course and dessert. what if a meteor strikes but i would have never gotten to taste the greatest ice cream sundae because i had to wait until after i finished my brussels sprouts.
having dessert first let me enjoy the sweetness just in case a bitter after taste decides to settle. dessert is like the type of love that feels like the honeymoon stage forever because the kisses are pure honey without the sting of the bees.
let’s have dessert first. let me indulge in confection and worry about the cavities later. let me get a vodka cranberry and a jack and coke before last call. besides last calls don’t even exist in a 24 hour city; they only existed because you told me bars close where you’re headed. last calls exist in the place you bootleg as the city where we first sinned.
have dessert with me. i don’t care for the biggest tooth ache if you can glut over the greatest sugar rush with me first.
am i write? 