I have to actually voice my self restraint when I pass by this table so it’s not uncommon to suddenly hear me scream, “Chocolate muffins, I REJECT YOU!”
Given, I am a major contributing force to the problem. Half the stuff you see me make on the blog ends up at work. One person
Today there was half of a sheet cake sitting there. The tiny piped on frosting carrots that are so ubiquitous with Costco bakeries signaled that it was carrot.
A co-worker and her child were in the kitchen at the time. As she poured herself a cup of stale coffee that had been sitting motionless in the pot for the last five hours the child’s eyes never wavered away from the cake. Regardless of any motion he made he never lost direct sight of his sweet toothed desire. This carrot cake was his new God, and he its devoted acolyte.
Finally he summoned up the courage and piped up, “Mom, can I have a piece of carrot cake?”
“No,” she said, crushing his dreams.
“But it’s carrot cake! It’s a vegetable.”
I interjected, “No,” I laughed, “carrot cake is not a vegetable.”
The look of defeat on his face was almost heartbreaking. In under ten seconds I destroyed a child’s hopes and optimism. He knew that if a stranger saw through his specious reasoning, mom did too. I remember adults telling me this about carrot cake when I was little. It's a cruel fact and one of the many initiations into adulthood.
“Sorry sweetie,” mom said, “but we both know that’s not going to work.”
Harsh realities of life kid. Get used to it.