Leave the Gun, Take the Cannoli

Or the fruitcake.  Or the Spam sandwich.  Or the - you get my drift.  I made a mistake last night by eating something I shouldn't have.  It wasn't a big indulgence, just something to help me drift off to sleep (after four hours of tossing and turning).  This morning I'm bleary-eyed but, amazingly, not guilt-ridden.  How can I be perfect when I live in a sadistically tempting world chock full of whipped cream, fried onion rings, and turducken (that's right - a chicken stuffed into a duck, stuffed into a turkey, stuffed with stuffing - check it out, it's delicious).   Now, if I had to choose between a gun or a cannoli, I guess I would first determine who was chasing me.  A thug - I'd take the gun; everyone else - the cannoli.