Lusting over chocolate, crying over inches.

Right, so it's Friday at work. The time when the week is about to roll to an end and a glorious weekend beckons, curling its fingers and making me dream about all the wonderful possibilities that lie ahead. This is the second last Friday of the month and we are supposed to close out the magazine issue by tonight. Actually, we were supposed to be done with it a couple of days back but then busted deadlines, lazy journalists, unanswered phone calls and emails, and arrogant athletes refusing to talk to poor hacks, played complete spoilsport. So here I am, sitting at my desk, 4:30pm on a Friday evening, waiting for work to descend so me and my colleagues can finish off the damn corrections and head home. And maybe tip back some beer and just lie back and rant and bitch about life in general.

But what made the day was an impromptu treat by the deputy editor. Those guys at the upper levels are awesomely paid. And can afford to treat poor and financially-stricken skeletons like us. What landed on the desk was a tall glass of that Delhi dessert almost universally known and liked and drooled over and salivated at: Nirula's Hot Chocolate Fudge. With thick chocolate sauce covering the glass, there are two/three scoops of ice cream (depending on the size you order). Then, more chocolate sauce and a load of nuts over the ice cream and your extremely sinful HCF is ready to go. Into your mouth and into the stomach -- to add thousands of calories in a single sitting, most of which will end on your already flabby stomach or those thunder thighs.