Here’s the deal. I have a serious problem with frosting. It’s like crack to me. Disgusting, buttery, sugary crack.
I should have known with my son’s birthday coming around there would be frosting. But I had no idea the extent of the frosting.
Friday was my son’s actual second birthday. I picked up a pizza (take and bake, thin crust, so that’s not so bad…right?), salad and cupcakes.
Eight cupcakes. My son had two – let me rephrase that – he had a bite of each, them proceeded to smash them all over the tray of his high chair and then smear the carnage around all over his face and his hair. (I should have taken note that I probably should not eat the frosting after witnessing the fact that it had the same holding properties on hair as superglue).
What became of the other four? Well I had one. Then another. Then I walked away, feeling disgusting. I should have put them in the trash compactor and covered them with bleach right then.
But no. No, instead I made the impossibly intelligent decision that I would eat one for BREAKFAST the next morning. I kept telling myself I was doing a long run that day, so it was okay.
The run never happened. And it didn’t happen on Sunday, either. Let’s just say I got a little carried away in party preparation, and exercising fell to the back of my list. OKAY, I PUSHED IT THERE. BAH.
Back to the cupcakes. Their magnetic pull was impossible to ignore every time I walked by them, sitting looking ridicioulsy pretty with their little orange frosting carrots on top. So, around noon on Saturday, I was about to shove ANOTHER (what is WRONG with me) in my mouth, and I was like, NO. No cupcakes, you don’t win this one. The dogs were in the kitchen, so (omigod, don’t tell our vet who thinks our dogs are fat) I fed them the rest of the cupcakes.
Whew.
You think the frosting saga is over? NO. Oh, no.
I thought it was a good idea to bake my son a cake. The cake part, no problem! I couldn’t sample the cake itself without ruining it, so I was safe.
But the frosting. I made so much buttercream frosting to decorate this bad boy that I used a POUND of butter. And two bags of powdered sugar.
Gross.
The cake turned out great, and I swear I didn’t eat that much of the frosting, but I’m pretty sure I absorbed it through my skin. Frosting osmosis.
The cake, it was adorable. I could hardly bring myself to eat small piece of it due to the previous frosting overload.
But did I eat a piece. Yes.
Ugh.
So, Sunday night, after the party, I worked out. I worked out twice yesterday. And will today, as well. I’m not sure I can reverse the damage before weighing in tomorrow.
Dammit.
Frosting, why must you be so delicious? I hate you.