I haven't really minded this nor'easter; we're into Day 3 of unrelenting rain and wind. It gave us a good excuse to skip the gym and stay home through the weekend. We ventured out to a couple of movies (Young Victoria: very good, especially if you're into period costume; Alice in Wonderland: not great, but entertaining enough). Today I went to the MFA; instead of walking, I hiked to the bus stop at the Christian Science Center, which was enough of an adventure. And then I hauled four bags of groceries home. That wasn't much fun in a soaking gale, but it's never much fun.
Whatever isn't covered by raincoat, hood, and boots gets soaked, but then it dries. Not worth moaning about. I actually wish it had all been snow; we'd have a magnificent Blizzard of '10, and old people could finally stop boring young people with tales of '78 (which I missed).
With all this time to lounge around the house, often with Mr. Possum purring upon my person, I did some thinking. About cake, among other things. As I've written before, I believe that cake is the key to nirvana. We have been lacking in cake for a long time. Our last cake was a fantastic Chocolate Decadence from Party Favors (their gourmet flavors are much better than their decorated buttercreams), purchased on the day my husband received the good news about his new teaching position. (The lady wrote "Congratulations, Professor!" across the top for me.) That was way back in mid December. For god's sake. No wonder I'm craving frosting.
But my husband is trying to lose weight. I'm usually up for that, too. But I never succeed through deprivation. In fact, I think it's impossible for me to improve my habits without cake for a reward. Without the promise of a respectable dessert in the evening, I'm not disciplined; I'm nibbling on cheese and other stuff all day. Cake actually provides an incentive for me to eat sensible meals. It might even inspire me to get more exercise, too.
I'm not making this up; it runs in the family. My dad, 95, has always been trim, as was his dad, who lived to 92. They both ate two or three sensible Italian or American meals of reasonable size — and then had a bowl of ice cream or piece of cake, or both, at night. They didn't graze, gobble, or snack, but they enjoyed their food. I'm just following in their footsteps, sans the Breyer's.
At least that's what I told myself when I spied a small Chocolate Silk cake at Shaw's today for half price. It was sadly smushed around the edges. It is my favorite flavor, at half price, and someone needed to take pity on it. I don't know why I'm sitting here boring you to death when I could be having some. (I encourage you to have cake, too, especially if the rain is getting you down. But don't try to ring our doorbell; we don't have one.) Bye.