I have never lived a day that I didn’t wake up wanting to bake.
Saying that my stomach hurts after my run-in with the skateboarders would be an understatement. I am bruised and sore, tired and humiliated.
On most other days, baking would make me feel good. Even the idea of baking would help me go through the motions of the morning – showering, breakfast, being nice to people. Today, though, all I wanted to do was curl up in a ball in my office and hide.
Maybe that’s why I picked the Grasshopper Whoopie Pie to be the daily dessert. The last time I wanted to curl up in a ball was after a particularly grueling (and I mean that with my trademark sarcasm) day by the pool in Cabo, when April and I ate, drank and slept grasshoppers from the swim-up bar. Don’t judge – we were on Spring Break.
I only wish that was today’s reason. I am still feeling ridiculous. Actually, I’m feeling even more so as the pain sets in and grows. I am just hoping it doesn’t take over my fat mind – those are my grandma’s words – because I can’t lose business to the vandal and my loss of desire.