This weekend two of my dearest friends got married and I brought all their things home with me so they could whisk away to their Hawaiian Honeymoon. Included in these wedding items was the remnants of their cake. Three. Boxes. FULL.
Thus, I was left alone in an empty condo with 20lbs of contraband. The only thing keeping me from having my own honeymoon and making sweet love to that beautiful body of sweetness was the memory of throwing up at the wedding after having a little bit. Yes, I snuck some bites, I'm not gonna lie and say I learned my lesson a few weeks ago. At least this time I was able to limit myself (probably because my friends were there telling me I was making a horrific mistake) and promptly slipped away from the festivities ("I need to pee") to take a nice brisk walk through the moonlit vineyard (aka: high-tailed my ass out of earshot and tossed my cookies on some grapevines)
I took one box to work Monday and fed a chunk of it to the kids ten minutes before I left. It was win-win, really; I got rid of the goods and got the satisfaction of knowing their sugar frenzy kicked in as soon as my car rounded the corner. I pawned another box off on my women's group last night and the last box went to the other kid today. I'm glad it's all out of my hands because I don't trust myself to be alone with it for another day. The chemistry between us is just too much to bear and I can only be good for so long.
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