The Bad Place

"You full?" said d.
"Yep," I said. There was a bowlful of pasta in my stomach.
"Want something sweeeeeet!" said d. This wasn't a question, sadly. This was a lament.
"You've got Welsh Cakes," I mentioned.
"Nooo!"
"OK..."
Turns out my girl was having a very particular craving. For her own lemon drizzle cake, of which she made some on the weekend, and for which she now had a Jones on.
"Want cake!" she said.
I thought about it.
"I want KitKats," I said. "Lots and lots of KitKats. Orange ones, white ones, special-wanky-edition ones...ooooooh dark chocolate ones. Mmm....peanut butter ones could be fun. Basically, just wanna get wicked in a KitKat orgy...with maybe a Picnic on the side for when things get dull..."

d was looking at me. She blinked.
"I've gone to the Bad Place again, haven't I?"
"Just a bit, yeah," she agreed. "You spend a lot of time thinking about this stuff, don't you?"
I grinned.
"Bloody amateurs," I muttered.

d went to make cake.

Postscript:
d came back, bearing cake. She read this entry.
"Yyyyyeah...I may be an amateur honey, but look - I have cake. You go whip up a KitKat and get back to me, Bad Place Boy..."

Sonofabitchsonofabitchsonofabitchsonofabitchsonofabitch...Where's the freakin' yoghurt?