Blair walked in the door last night with a lemon bundt cake from a co-worker that weighs about 10 pounds but tastes as light as air.
Say what you will about CPA's and accountants, these people know how to put the hurt on some baking. For the next two weeks our home will fill with cakes, drop cookies, slices of pie, fudge, peanut brittle, peppermint bark, coconut macaroons, and on and on and on. One woman he's worked with for years always sends home a bag of assorted baked goods--the kind that call for crisco and butter. She makes these peanut-butter balls that are so good they make you want to smack your momma. One year she didn't include them. I told Blair to go back and tell her that HER JOB WAS ON THE LINE if she didn't hustle up some peanut butter balls for the bosses wife. (I don't think he took my advice. But he did tell her I missed them and the next year she sent me a HUGE batch of them. Lovely woman.)
The problem with these gifts is two-fold:
- Blair doesn't have much of a sweet tooth. So guess who consumes a majority of the food?
- He brings these trays of food home and then leaves me alone with them! All day alone in a house with a lemon bundt cake, as I am today, is an exercise in torture and self-denial. (An exercise I am flunking as it's not even 8 am and I've already had my first slice of cake. So good....)
I also feel we should reciprocate. "Should we send baked goods to the office?" I asked Blair. "Do you want me to bake some vegan cookies?"
I think it's rude when he just ignores me like that.
No matter. I'll console myself with bundt cake. Tis the season to get fat.