I Promise They’re Not For Me

It’s little bit awkward buying candy bars in bulk. You just never know what others might think. A well adjusted person would say “whatever” and buy them with nary a concern that others might think they’re some sort of closet binge eating candy bar addict. With their looks of shame and disappointment cast upon you. I’m clearly not one of those well adjusted types and always wonder what people are thinking when I place a load of candy bars or other baking supplies on the grocery conveyor belt. I’m not ashamed to admit that I peek into other people’s carts. I think you can tell a lot about a person by the contents of their shopping cart.

Single, crunchy, big family, busy families, foodies. Their carts tell their story.

Last week, I found myself in need of seven Heath bars for a recipe I wanted to make. I’m not going to lie, I seriously contemplated telling the checker my plans for the candy. It’s as if I felt a great need to shout: I’M NOT GOING TO EAT THEM ALL. No, really. I promise. I’M NOT.

Similarly, well, not really, but I just needed a segue, there was a time when Craig wanted to marinate his steak in a little beer. It’s a fine idea, if you’re into that sort of thing, but I wouldn’t buy the beer for him. And why, you might ask? I’m sure you’re shocked and appalled that I refused to do something for him, since I’m such a diligent and graciously serving wife and all.

You see, I was pregnant at the time.
It just wasn’t going to happen.

I know that we shouldn’t focus so much on appearances, not judging a book by its cover and all, but the line has to be drawn somewhere, right?
Buying beer, even for others, when you’re pregnant is a big no-no. That would just be embarrassing; much like buying facial hair remover, wart remover and anti fungal cream. Some things just aren’t that pleasant to bring to the check out counter.
Ahem.

Sorry, I brought this post to such a low, low level.

The bundt cake was really tasty.
Craig brought it to work for their holiday pot luck and like a smart (and well trained) dad, he brought home a piece for Caroline. Fortunately, for me, the piece was HUGE, so I got to sample some of my handiwork, as well.

It was awesome. Cakes with butter, sour cream and seven Heath bars usually are.

So, I managed to buy a crud load of Heath bars without major embarrassment or stares and quiet whispers from fellow grocery shopping patrons regarding the size of my butt and my consequent need (or NOT) for that many candy bars.

It was a successful venture all around.

However, a few days later I bought these:

Relax, people. They’re for a recipe.
No, really. They are.
I like to bake, remember?
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2 responses

  1. Thanks, Emily.The recipe came from a book called Chocolate, Chocolate by some lady named Lisa. I can't remember her last name. Duh!The book is amazing. Not that you need a cook book, since you're awesome enough to create your own recipes.

Yo.

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