Cake...and eating it.

Because of my writer's intuition and because it has always been this way, I see the world almost exclusively through metaphors. This can be a problem when analyzing one's own life because in some cases the metaphor misses the mark and has a tendency to over dramatize situations. For instance, last week I was cleaning the toilets in the house, one of my least favorite jobs because I AM NOT THE ONE who, while urinating, manages to splash piss up both sides of the wall around the toilet, and, of course, at its base. I have an instant safeguard called my ass that keeps things in the bowl.
So, cleaning the toilet is actually cleaning the entire area within a two-foot radius of the toilet. When Lucian asked me how it was going (more because he was bored than concerned, I think) I said, "Well, I guess this the price I pay for giving a sh*t."
"You're getting paid to clean the bathroom?" His eyes lit up at the thought of money. Then Anna jumped in.
"No, she's saying that she's the only one who cares that it's gross. So this is her punishment for caring."
See what I mean by missing the mark (ha)?
My lean towards metaphors also applies to the whole "having your cake and eating it, too" syndrome that I have observed, mostly in my dealings with men, although I know that it is not exclusive to men. For example, if a man tells you that you are the best thing that has happened to him in years and then in the same breath says his girlfriend would love you because you're so smart, what the f*ck are you supposed to think? Sounds to me like someone is getting a lot of cake. Also sounds like I need to work on getting some cake.
My problem, the cake has always been a function for someone else, not me. I have always made the cake and now I want a nice big piece out of the middle, but, I don't want to have to make the thing to actually be able to eat it. Seems simple, but it isn't.