Step away from the bakery aisle…

Not sure which part of my brain responded to the grocery sign but it triggered something deep inside me:  Pillsbury Cinnamon Buns $1 each.  My inner child?  Something primal.  Perhaps just nostalgia.  But Christmas Eve I bought 2 of this artery clogging happiness in a tube. 


I forced the first tube on friends and family who had stayed over.  So I really only ate 2 of the first go-round.

This morning, hidden behind the leftover Italian, Mexican and Indian food feasts we had over the holiday I saw it.  It called to me.  And after a hearty breakfast of re-heated Basmatti rice with soy sauce and sesame oil on it, I popped these partially-hydrogenated heart attacks in the oven. 
I have not had these things in almost 30 years.  And I have managed to eat every last one of them.  It’s kind of like a Whopper.  You know it’s bad for you but you do it anyway.   And to make matters worse, I skipped yoga this morning and slept in.  Fighting back a cold.  Now I need a walk.  A bike ride.  An intervention.  A Lipitor cocktail.  Evil Evil Pillsbury.  Damn you for selling these. 


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