Blood, Sweat, and Smears

No, I'm not referring to one of the greatest speeches of all time (Winston Churchill for all of you non-history buffs); I'm referring to my day.  First, I cut myself this morning in a futile attempt to smash a spider with my chef's knife.  That's right.  This diet has reduced me to a cleaver-wielding spider killer.  After I sucked as much blood out of my finger - let's just call it breakfast - I walked 10,000 steps then spent over an hour at my doctor's workout room sweating like nun in a field of cucumbers.  See, even my phallic images are fat-free.  Anyway, I'm driving home, high on endorphins, and, suddenly, I pass Einstein's Bagels.  I'm rather unclear whether Einstein actually ate bagels, but I do - did until two weeks ago.  Plump, doughy cylinders of love with a dense coating (or smear) of cream cheese.  I slowed down long enough to envision the rapture of my mouth encircling the yeasty concoction, then resigned myself gnaw on a piece of marinated tree bark.