When your father brings home an Entenmann’s raspberry danish for Easter (he likes to have them for special occasions), the sugary, chemically, softly frosting-ed heaven is best enjoyed straight from the box. I like to leave a little fork in the box for easy access.
I feel justified in slowly nibbling it away throughout the day (even if that means I ultimately eat the entire box). There’s something about eating it a few bites ata time that makes it seem as though I’m not really consuming it at all. Only a sociopath, on the other hand, would cut a slice and eat it off a plate, looking at that full-portion-sized slab on the plate makes the whole thing too real.