Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Confessions of a weak, WEAK woman
I have mentioned in past posts how I can resist candy and junk food all day long, but when it comes to baked goods I am rendered helpless.
Well, yesterday, my random act of kindness backfired and has come back to bite me square in the fanny... literally.
I decided James needed a treat so I called around Mac to find someplace that would deliver cookies to his office. I managed to find a florist who knows of a place that makes the best frosted cookies ever and can deliver them before lunch! Everything is working out perfectly so far. He feels all warm and fuzzy AND he'll gain weight and I WON'T! (insert maniacal laugh track here.)
The cookies arrive, he calls and thanks me profusely, to which my natural reaction is to ask, "So, how are they? What are the like?"
This is where the trouble starts.
"Oh, they're GREAT! They're the size of a DESSERT PLATE and SLATHERED IN FROSTING!!! They're SOFT and CHEWY and CRISPY on the edges and ONE just about put me OVER THE EDGE so I decided to share them with the office."
To which my dainty reply was, "DUDE!! You had better bring some home to me if you ever want me to send you cookies again!!"
And so he did.
Damn... er... bless him.
He brought home two. More perfect examples of superior bakery issue I have never seen.
I was entranced. The textures. The flavors. The quintessential pairing with ice-cold milk so fresh it was mooing that morning... NIRVANA!
I am powerless in the face of such forces.
So then I said to myself, "the only thing as good as the cold milk combo would be that of said ambrosia with, say, the perfect cup of coffee... and mere hours prior I just happened to procure nearly a pound of Organic Sumatra Gayo Mountain roasted only yesterday!
But, wait! I should save that cookie for the girls...
...though they don't even know it's there so they won't miss it..."
Oh, how the battle raged. But I did manage to get some sleep.
This morning, James brought me my coffee in bed. Wow! This new level of service is unprecedented and he better be careful with such indulgent behavior because I spoil faster than shellfish in July.
So, I go padding out to the kitchen, coffee in hand and what jumps out at me from behind the wine rack? Why, that dastardly cookie, of course!
After roughly .85 seconds of grappling, it was bisected and half was meandering blissfully down my esophagus, awash in cream-laden java. Ahhhhhh.
That... was... PERFECTION! But that's IT!
I have recently lost very nearly 30 pounds. Though involuntary and not a program I would recommend, still, I needed to be rid of the weight and plan to TRY to keep it off with exercise now that my appetite has returned, much to my chagrin.
Afternoon arrived, and along with it, lunchtime.
I had a pretty reasonable meal... half of a leftover chicken breast, rice and broccoli. Yippee for me!
As I'm taking my plate to the kitchen a quick whiff of freshly roasted coffee teases my right nostril.
I steel myself against it and press on to the sink.
I remind myself that the very complicated coffee maker would need to be completely dismantled, cleaned out and reassembled to make ONE STINKING CUP OF COFFEE only to have to repeat the whole process once again for the morning brew.
Way too much trouble for a single cup of afternoon joe.
Then, I turn to walk across the kitchen and my eyes fall on the other half of the morning's transgression... and my mind darts nimbly to FRENCH PRESS!!
One cup of coffee is a cinch in a plunger pot and if I get that blasted second half of cookie out of my life then I can move on and get back to focusing on carrot sticks and Yoga... Right?
Ok. I'm done.
I'm safe now.
When will that florist call me back and tell me where I can get MORE?!!! I can't stop thinking about THAT DAMNED COOKIE!!
Ok. I'm off to the kitchen to get more carrots. Yoga starts in four hours and fifteen minutes and I have some serious karmic reparations to make.
Ohm... There is no cookie... Ohm... There is no cookie... Ohm... There is no cookie...