Yesterday was a good day. I came home from my track workout (which kicked my butt, thank you very much) and sitting on the counter wrapped in plastic wrap was... cake.
"Where did this come from?" I asked Blair.
"Bosses day," he replied.
I gasped and put a hand to my throat. "Does this mean that this is A-----'s" cake?" I asked.
"A" is a woman who works with Blair who gets my vote for best baker on the planet. I live for the holidays when she makes a baked goods goodie basket for everyone she works with. One year she left out the peanut butter balls, which are my favorite, and I told Blair to tell her she was going to be fired if some peanut balls didn't show up on his desk, pronto. Needless to say, he ignored me. But I later told A what I'd said and the next year she sent home this huge batch of peanut butter balls with Blair, just for me. She's fun that way.
So last night I had a piece of pound cake that was to die for. Super-moist, hint of coconut, .... one bite probably gained me back every calorie I'd lost running but who cares? So worth it...
The problem is that I'm alone today in the house with the cake. "I'd like some cake tonight when I get home so don't eat it all, okay?" said Blair.
"I make no promises," was my reply.
I think I need to chain myself to my desk. It's only 7:15 am and I can feel my willpower breaking. Cake... coffee... YUM.
Blair better get home from work early tonight. It's his only hope.