I thought I would just take a bite, because who knows, it might not even be good…But isn’t that a load of malarkey (who says malarkey? apparently me). This is a crumb cake we were talking about. Of course it was going to be good.
To my right was a bag of lettuce. A cucumber–that would need to be chopped. A tomato–that would need to be cleaned, and that damn sticker taken off. A bottle of salad dressing–Italian, not even good Italian with the mystery flecks of seasoning in it, but boring, vinaigrette. Boo-hoo-hoo.
But oh, to my left, was a crumb cake…
…So, if I just taste it with this one little bite? Son of A! It’s so good!
I cut a square in half and put it on my plate next to a sliced up a peach, because that would add some nutritional value to my lunch, right. (Mama can eat cake for meals, but you have to eat your vegetables! Right.)
Damn. That half a square went fast.
I looked at all the crumbles that had piled in the corner of the box. Let me just spoon these up here and put them on my plate. Technically, they were part of my original piece anyway. Why be gypped, was my mentality as I pushed my spoon around the edges of the entire box and shoveled them directly into my mouth, skipping the plate where the peach sat untouched.
Well, what was I going to do with the other half of the square? Who was going to eat that? Might as well pick the crumb top off this, too. Now what was I going to do with the bottom? We waste so much food already…
So I made some tea to dip it in. And it was gone in two bites.
Did I drop some in the cup? Did I really eat all of that already?
There sat the rest of the cake in the box, up on the counter, taunting me.
Another piece. A little square. Come on, just a sliver…
But then there was the other side of me. That (boo) salad side.
Do you really need two pieces right now? It’s not even noon!
I got up and checked the nutritional information, in case this particular crumb cake happened to not only be delicious but nutritionally wonderful, too. 15 grams of fat per serving. Peachy.
Which reminded me, I could eat the peach. I turned to look at it, but come on, it was a ball of orange. How unappealing after 15 grams of brown sugary fat per serving.
Then I saw your eyes, Baby Boy, upon me.
“Do you want to split a piece of cake with Mommy?” I said with a Cheshire cat grin, raising my eyebrows up and down up and down as if my eyes were saying ding, ding, ding, ding! (Because I needed to do that, and I wasn’t asking a friggin’ 2 year old boy if he wanted cake.)
I cut us a square and sliced it in half and brought it over to the table on two little plates. And we sat and ate it. And it was delicious.
It’s amazing how all you need to feel good about a bad decision is a partner in crime.
*I will try to heed this advice as I head off to a girl’s night tomorrow night. May the good angels be with me. Be back Monday.