My gf gets a monthly craving for two things: beef, and chocolate. Not together, but almost. Usually this manifests itself in the form of a single butter burger with the works from Culver's, and nibbling on pieces of a gigantic dark chocolate bar with the fancy 60% cacao or whatever.

Yesterday, we had a light dinner, and then she started trying to take inventory of the various items we had in our kitchen that might be made into a chocolate dessert. "Maybe I could melt down some chocolate and cover some peanuts in it!" I, thinking this sounded like far more effort than necessary, offered to drive to the whole 1.4 miles to the closest grocery store.

I returned, after murdering a bunch of piles of snow with my Jeep, with dark chocolate-covered pretzels, and a piece of chocolate cake with chocolate frosting. "OMG I love this frosting!" She was happy, all was well. The rather large piece of cake was only about half eaten when we got through with it.

Today, in a meeting, I got a text: "So did you save that cake for me? Also the cable's not working." After doing some remote tech support on the cable (Me: "Ok so when you turn the tv on what's it say?" Her: "WTF now it's working fine!") I told her yes, the cake was all hers if she wanted.


Then it started to snow. Traffic was pretty backed up so I stayed at work about a half hour extra. She said she was going to do some yoga and eat a salad, and I could do whatever I felt like for dinner. Then I asked her if she wanted me to pick her up anything from our favorite little taqueria on my way home from work.

"Yeah! Carne asada burrito!"

So we ate our dinner, and she killed the whole burrito. "Wow I wasn't expecting to eat the whole thing!" Sure babe, sure.


Then she broke out the remaining chocolate cake, and went upstairs to watch Real Housewives of Who Gives a Fuck What City Those Bitches Are In. It's her guilty pleasure, along with The Bachelor, and Lifetime/Hallmark Christmas movies, about 40 of which are still on our DVR waiting to be deleted. The best is The Nine Lives of Christmas starring Brandon Routh as a hunky firefighter who finds a stray cat which leads him to fall in love with a veterinary student who gets evicted from her apartment for having a cat when her nosy landlady doesn't allow cats, so Brandon Routh is all like "hey just move in with me, our cats will be pals!" but of course mild, not-very-dramatic drama ensues.


Oh, how the former Superman has fallen.

Anyway, she took the cake upstairs with her, and then hollered downstairs asking if I wanted any of the cake. I went upstairs, and I took a bite, but thought, hey I'm still working on my beer, I'd rather have cake later. So I asked her to just save me a bite or two and I'd eat it later.