LET THEM EAT CAKE

Yesterday morning I went to have blood work done …  oh joy.

Then I went grocery shopping … ditto the joy.

While at the store, as a reward, I bought all the ingredients to make a carrot cake …

a healthy cake … as a present to myself.

A cake full of vegetables and raisins and nuts.

What could be more perfect?

I made the cake.

I used every spoon, and every spatula I own.

I used two bowls, the noisy chopper thingy, multiple measuring cups both liquid and dry, three sizes of teaspoons, two tablespoons, my OXO vegetable peeler, one cake pan, my pastry brush, three dish wipes, and five tea towels.

I sugared every flat surface, flung chopped carrots up the walls, cast raisins upon the sea of chaos, floured the oil,  and scattered egg shells over it all.

I filled a garbage bag with detritus from my efforts.

It took an hour to clean it all up.

When the cake was done, I had a piece … I had earned it.

Then I didn’t do anything else.

I did no housework, no laundry, no bed making, no gardening, and no more cleaning.

When I finished doing all that nothing,

I had a second piece of cake … you know, in observance of my stellar baking expertise.

I spent the rest of the day on the phone, and later I had a third piece of cake …just because it was there.

Then, I skipped dinner, had a drink, and went to bed.

Here is the question … how long will it keep?

Or, alternatively, how long can I keep it up before my hips discover that I am eating cake?