J walks into the room where I’m sitting with my eyes glued to the laptop. ‘Are you looking at porn again’, he asks. I don’t bother trying to deny it – the images on the screen have already given me away.
I blame you, Rachael, for leading me astray. I was living a perfectly content, if slightly insular, little life without this newly added burden of viewing beautiful images that are calling out to me to run, not walk, to the kitchen. [Despite the sanctions that have been placed on me by J – to limit my baking so as not to sabotage his get fit efforts.]
I guess I’ll eat a sly handful of chocolate chips until my next government-approved baking day. But I’ll be thinking of millionaire’s bars while doing so.