Trigger (heh) warning: If you happen to be a sissy, the following might trigger you into sucking your thumb and curling up into the fetal position for anywhere from five minutes to several days. Do not read this post if this is something you’re capable of. I haven’t sucked my thumb since I was knee-high to a grasshopper (I think I was 3) and the last time I was in the fetal position, I was actually in the womb, a person like me would be reasonably safe to read what I’m about to write. You have been trigger (heh) warned.
My daughter, for my 50th birthday, baked me the most delectable carrot cake (with cream cheese icing, of course) to ever have passed my lips. It was one of those cake eating experiences that, because it’s so utterly fantastic, makes you close your eyes in ecstasy the first several bites.
So there I am last night, sitting on the couch after a big, fast Thursday night ride (36 total miles) and, because I’m so attuned to what my body is telling me, my body says, “Hey, yo! Down here! Hey, I need some carrot cake down here!”
Well, now that’s a reason to rejoice right there! My body says it needs carrot cake! Well, you know what happens next: I’m ass-deep in cream cheese icing when I realized I’d made a mistake in interpretation…
My body only asked for carrots. My melon filled in the “cake” part.