I'm sure it doesn't take a genius to figure out that I'm trying to lose those last few baby bakin' pounds, right? Ryan, on the other hand, could eat a gallon of ice cream and lose five pounds. Oh, to be a male. So why, oh why do I torture myself?
I woke up one morning to the most delicious, gooey, warm chocolate smell. It was still dark out, and I'm the only one in this house who has been known to bake a batch of brownies. Confused, I tossed and turned a bit, and realized Ryan had already gone off to work. What was going on??
...and that chocolate smell. It was nearly enough to get me out of bed! at five o'clock!
I woke up a bit more and realized Ryan was, indeed, responsible for the situation.
A couple of weeks ago, I found Pop-Tarts on sale and I knew I had a couple of coupons as well. So, off to Albertson's we went, where I asked Ryan to choose the varieties he'd enjoy for a quick breakfast on the mornings where he is out the door before the sun even thinks about rising.
My darling, unassuming husband popped his tarts and off he went, trailing that chocolate aroma right past our bed.
...and the worst part? It.Keeps.Happening.
Oh, the misery.