One. Last. Beater. of. Frosting

After a frenzy of activity that encompassed:

* a strength training workout — at 5 a.m. after being kept up by two gossipy neighbours on their balcony;

* a training run — only 14 kilometres because I’m still recovering from last weekend’s race;

* the making, packaging, and gifting of chocolate covered sponge toffee to a treasured friend and client — which by day’s end I’m told was all delectably devoured;

* back-to-back massage treatments — me giving not me receiving;

* the creation of a gift for a 2 year old’s birthday — one adorable picture, photoshopped into a frame, creatively captioned, and logo’d;

* getting the finishing touches for the gift — picking up an actual frame, putting the picture into the frame, while waiting in line for 2 yuppies to return their lamp and get their money back not on the gift card they used to purchase the lamp but in cash and then to use some of that cash to pay for a bottle of vitamin water that the yuppie male drank 3/4’s of while making the return while yuppie female stared at last minute gift items through her designer shades that she insisted on wearing despite being indoors and away from the any harmful ultraviolet;

– while getting lunch in a busy downtown Chinese bakery — because nothing would appease my craving for char siu bao;

* and running the gift the 3 kilometres to the 2 year old’s mom before she left work — all on foot and all within 45 minutes of starting the gift (see point 3 *’s above);

* cooking an Ethiopian dinner from scratch — and hoping the gods of running would look upon this act as some form of sacrificial offering and bestow upon me the speed and endurance of an Ethiopian;

* baking a triple layer fudge cake for my sweetheart’s post-Ethiopian dessert, again from scratch, and rejigging the frosting which was too light in colour and too sweet in tasteĀ  — much to much to my sweetheart’s gleeful delight which made all the effort more than worth it;

* and then giving what wasn’t eaten of the frosted cake all away — think chum being thrown off the coasts of South Africa and the shark feeding frenzy thereafter but this time enacted among my fellow inhabitants of the 10th floor of my building;

after all of this I am left with… last. beater. of. frosting.

My apartment looks post-apocalyptic. I’m exhausted. And I still have to clean up before my next massage therapy client arrives at noon.

But not until I myself get to eat the……. one. last. beater. of. frosting.



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