Tuesday, December 14, 2004

5000 Calories

I used to be really good with an oven. Past holidays, I've made a mean banana bread or a batch of heavenly coconut, oatmeal, chocolate chip cookies. I'm not sure what happened. Twice this week, I tried to bake. Both times, the cookies were either too poofy, too flat, too crumbly or burnt. Even the pumpkin, chocolate chip bread I made last night didn't seem to taste quite right. BUT this does not negate the fact that I love to eat the dough. I'm beginning to think I'm tricking myself into making cookies for my friends when my real intentions are spoon feeding myself batter. The dough for these banana oatmeal cookies I tried to make (but turned out too flat and crumbly) was amazing. Sinfully delicious. But then I stood back and pictured in my head the cup of crisco that I mooshed in the batter just a few minutes earlier. Just that image of white lard sent a quiver to my belly. But did it stop me from having another bite? No. I had to throw the batter away so I wouldn't eat all of it. I'm like that. If it's not in sight, or not within reach, I won't eat it. But if it's smiling and waving at me from the refrigerator or pantry, I'm likely to gobble it up. That's the little spat that Mark and I have on occasion. He loves to buy chocolate covered pretzels, raisinets, reeses pieces and various goodies that I won't let myself have and then he'll leave them in the refrigerator. And he's funny in that he won't finish them. Ever. He'll go and buy a new bag of Popables before he'll eat what's left in the fridge. And so I'll stare at the colorful wrapper every time I open the refrigerator door. It's evil. It's cruel. So, I throw it away. I usually give it about a day and then I toss it. And he'll get mad at me even though he knows wholeheartedly that he's not going to eat the chocolate covered caramels or the box of Goobers. He knows. But he won't admit it. For about two weeks an entire birthday cake and two half eaten birthday cakes made themselves quite cozy on the bottom shelf. He told me he was going to eat the rest of the cake. That's what he said. I wasn't allowed to touch any of them. I can't remember if I asked permission or not, but after the two weeks were up, I made the call and tossed that Randall's birthday cake, the yellow cake with chocolate icing and the half eaten cake that Meredith decorated with a huge grin on my face. Take that you pile of white frosting! Take that you chocolate goodness! Take that you 5000 calories! Oh god. I'm so pathetic.

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