My Blog Made Me Do It

Hello. My name is Christina, and I've lost every ounce of self control. I am also addicted to orange-flavored Hostess cupcakes, and I will go to odd lengths to get them.

My blog made me do it. I swear.

You see, it's like this... I wrote that post this morning, and then off I went about my day. But it really bothered me that the photo in the post wasn't my own, and quite frankly, it bothered me even more that it isn't a 'pretty' photo. So I got to thinking, if I were to just purchase a package of the little orange beauties, I could photograph them to my hearts content.

It was simple, really. Until I got to the creepy Hostess Outlet:

(please take care to notice the hand-painted handicapped parking sign. looks as though he's got a flat...)

...and realized you get a price break if you purchase five packages. Now, you all know how much I love a bargain, right?

So how could I say no?

The good news is I've only eaten one cupcake, and they've been in my possession roughly three hours.

Also, I got my picture:

Who are we kidding?

You didn't think I only took one picture, did you?

The little guy on the right, there? He's, um, no longer with us.

Little Orange Cupcakes

Have you ever had one of these?

They're to die for. Promise.

Like orange-flavored crack.

Last fall, when I was about seven months pregnant, I was a rebel in the food department. After quite a few months on the South Beach Diet, pregnancy was my free pass. I was going to eat whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted.

Anyway.

A friend innocently made mention of Hostess orange cupcakes. At the time, it seemed simple enough. Being about two weeks further along than I was, I could see why she might be in the food mood. Little did I know, her craving was about to become the bane of my existence.

For two weeks, I drove around town in search of those little orange cakes. I tried grocery stores, gas stations, the 7-11 in the weird part of town. Nothing. Nada. No little cakes.

...and then Ryan figured it out. He had the common sense to ask the Hostess guy! But of course! I'd like to say he was desperately trying to help my mini-crisis, but probably he was just tired of hearing me yammer on about chemically-charged cupcakes.

What did Hostess man say?

"Go to the Hostess Bakery Outlet," Ryan reported.

"Well, of course!" I chirped.

I paused. "We've got a Hostess Bakery Outlet?"

So off I went... and wouldn't you know?? There they were! I loaded a couple of packages into my arms and waddled toward the front counter, where I was cut off by a woman with Coke, Twinkies and four bags of chips.

It took every ounce of self control not to say something. Pregnancy hormones do that to you. But then I would have looked desperate. I was most certainly not desperate.

...or so I told myself.