My roommate C-t-P is making her world-famous* chocolate chip cookies downstairs. These cookies deserve a more sensual-sounding name than “cookies,” because they are bliss.
And I don’t want any.
An overwhelming diet of birthday cakes (note the plural), Swedish fish, AMAZING white-chocolate-covered mini-cake-balls (I MUST find out what these are), chocolate eggs, Toblerone, Caramel deLites, and Fazer chocolate with berries (maitosuklaata ja marjoja) has me so sugared out that all I want to eat now is lettuce.
And iceberg lettuce at that.
(Have no fear. I’m sure I’ll want some by tomorrow morning. I’d hate to eat any real breakfast food this week.)
*They really are world-famous. So famous, in fact, that the box she shipped to me while I was in Germany never arrived, the Deutsche Post obviously having had advance notice that the cookies were en route.