I totally walked six blocks to the gym today when I went to cancel my membership.

I didn’t have a cupcake for breakfast today.

I want to reunite the cupcake with his family (whom I already ate).

The cupcake store needs to stay in business; the owner has a family to feed.

I might have already licked off part of the frosting.

There are starving people in the world or something.

Cupcakes are high in omega-3s.

I’m trying to be open to new experiences, and I’ve never eaten this particular cupcake before.

If I don’t eat the cupcake, ISIS wins.

If I don’t eat this cupcake, I’ll regret it. Maybe not now. Maybe not tomorrow, but soon, and for the rest of my life.

If my mouth is full of cupcake, I won’t be tempted to smoke crystal meth.

I had a salad for lunch.

Even though my salad was really just a pile of stale lunch meat, at least I didn’t use dressing.

It’s not fair! I never get the last cupcake. It’s my turn, dammit!

If I don’t eat it, that bitch Kelly from Marketing will eat it.

The cupcake expires tomorrow.

Confession time: I’m a little bit overweight.

I know, I know, you’re shocked. I hide it so well, right? Through smoke and mirrors (and a sizable collection of knit ponchos), I’m able to keep my protruding belly under wraps, distract from my thigh overlap, and mask my flappy arm chub. And no one is the wiser!

Losing weight seems to be in direct conflict with my love of eating peanut butter straight from the jar, and my hatred of elevating my heart rate. Instead, I’ve taken a page from pregnant sitcom stars who employ increasingly creative and desperate methods to disguise their changing body from an unsuspecting public: