The Queen of Dunces

This is why I don't deserve a gall bladder:

I have just attended a "party" (staff morning tea).  I meant to bring my own cakes to this party for my own purposes - cakes baked without butter, dairy or gluten, and therefore quite safe for consumption.

I forgot to bring my stuff, so instead I ate what was there.  I had a shortbread biscuit (Moron!  Those things a full of butter!), an apple teacake thing (Covered in cream, you idiot!) and a mini pavlova (More cream?  What is wrong with you?).

Any single one of these things is probably enough to trigger unpleasantness with my gall bladder in it's current state - and I ate all three.

Because something in my head said "oh, go on, you haven't had anything nice for a while and it is a party after all", and somehow that counted more than the other voice in my head that said "your gall bladder hates you, and it hates all of this stuff, and it will have its revenge".

I am, indeed, the Queen of the Dunces.

And, of course, now that I've actually eaten that crap and know that pain awaits me, I'm smart enough to know I should have made better choices.  Not smart enough to actually make those choices, just smart enough to know that I should have.

My project for this year:  make better choices.