By Heather O.
This month happened to be J’s birthday, and his very lovely primary teacher made him some of the most amazing brownies I have ever seen. Seriously, they were gorgeous—huge, thick slices of chocolate covered in an amazing chocolate concoction that involved peanut butter chips and frosting and mini peanut butter cups cut in half. They were on a paper plate, zipped into a gallon sized ziploc bag, and they slipped out of my hand as I was getting in the car. Blessedly, they landed frosting side up. I picked them back up and handed them to my husband, telling him to handle them with care. Then I drove home.
(I almost always drive when my husband and I are together during the day. He’s colorblind and pretty much the worst driver in the world. I fear for my life when he drives. He says I MAKE him a bad driver because I’M such a bad backseat driver. Pshaw. Like pointing out that we’re on the wrong side of the yellow line makes me a back seat driver. Whatevs.)
I forgot about the brownies in all of the hustle and bustle. I vaguely remembered them when I was rummaging around the kitchen the next night, looking for something sweet. I couldn’t find them, figured hubby had tossed them, and let it go.
Today, exactly 7 days later, I was looking for my phone.
(Yes, I lost that too. I’m really really good at losing things. And falling into holes. That’s a different story that I probably could have blogged about because it’s actually really funny, but basically, my husband said that of COURSE I fell into that hole, because I’m the type of person who falls into holes. Because there are two kinds of people in this world, didn’t you know, those that fall into holes and those that don’t. I fall into holes. And lose my phone.)
I was looking under the seat in my van for my phone, when my fingers hit the paper plate. What the heck is this, I thought, and lo and behold, I pulled out the brownies. The weather has been fairly cold, so the inside of the car is not unlike a fridge, the ziploc seal was still intact, and they still looked perfect.
I ate them.
Well, not all of them, because they aren’t the kind of dessert that can be eaten in one sitting. In fact, I couldn’t even eat an entire brownie, they are *that* kind of dessert, so good that two or three bites is more than enough to satisfy even the most intense chocoholic.
My husband came home from walking the dog while I was eating the brownies.
(There are LOTS of bloggable stories about the dog, too, but I’m not sure if puppy stories are as fun as hole stories, or even brownie stories. Every blogger out there with a puppy and a laptop has a story to tell. But I ask you, how many bloggers have been stuck in a hole this month? AND had to call their rocket scientist neighbor to get them out?)
My husband ate the brownies, too.
Because we are that type of people. Bloggers who fall into holes and have a crazy puppy and who eat week old brownies that have been sitting under the seat of our car.
Don’t judge me. You totally would have eaten them, too.
And they would have been totally worth it.
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