April is one of those crazy birthday months. Mine is on XX and then I know people who have birthdays on the 22, 23, 24, and the 25. Nuts huh?
Well one of those birthdays was my mother-in-law’s and Susanne made a super yummy cake with chocolate frosting. Yes, I had some, and yes it was divine.
Saturday night rolls around and I am in a bad way. Meaning I just want to eat dammit, I don’t care how fat I get. This is a similar feeling as “I want to get drunk tonight and I don’t care HOW crappy I feel in the morning” except when I binge, it’s a week before I can lose the weight. At least with a hangover, a Sausage McMuffin with egg or a McGriddle (or both) and a couple Advil usually gets you through the one day of retribution for over binging.
I open the fridge and realize there is a tub of frosting in the fridge. Oh my dear reader, I love to eat spoonful after spoonful of frosting straight out of the tub. I love this even more than eating a spoonful of Nestlé's quick with a swig of milk (don’t knock it till you’ve tried it).
So I am thinking, oh yes, just one large spoonful and I will stop.
I pull it out of the fridge, pop the lid, and what do I see…
Now this is almost as bad as water boarding if you ask me. Torture, just plain torture.
When I ask my wife why she saved the frosting, she replied “there was still some in there.”
I called her a tease, and I meant it.
I guess it could have been worse. It could have been leftovers.
Oh, and yes, I scraped the bastard clean.