Three strikes and you’re out? Or third time’s the charm? Recently I’ve been sorely tested by pumpkin baked-goods temptation, not once, not twice, but, yes, you guessed it, three times. How’d I hold up in the face of one of my favorite treats? Read on…
Peter, Peter, Pumpkin Pusher: The doorbell rings. I innocently answer, expecting to greet a relative who is coming over to join my husband and others for an afternoon of football watching. What I wasn’t expecting is to have him hand me a container, saying, “Here, I got you pumpkin muffins.” Aaargh. Me? Why me? I’m not watching football. I’m already struggling in my mind with the food temptation that my husband had planned – some delicious looking cracker crack (that he raves about but I’ve never tried) and pizza, with its wonderful aroma wafting through the house as it heats. I don’t need baked goods to push me over the edge! So, as had been my plan all along, I just steered clear of the testosterone zone. But, hours later as the same thoughtful relative saw me on his way out of the house, muffins again in hand (for which I was ever so thankful that they were leaving my house and thoughts), he asked me TWICE if I was sure I didn’t want any. “No.“ “Thank you.” And out they walked.
Thoughtful Moms and Pumpkin Bombs: This time it’s the phone ringing, that heralds the disturbance in my eating equilibrium. My mom was on the other end. “I have to bring by your pumpkin bread,” she tells me. My pumpkin bread? What pumpkin bread? Ah, every quick on the uptake, it comes to me. My mom had driven past a Dutch bakery that we haven’t visited in several years but which we used to pass on the way to and from her last lake house. And we usually stopped. And when we did, we always bought their pumpkin bread. (And molasses cookies, and other assorted treats. But I digress.) So, thoughtful as she is, and she IS, she bought me a loaf. Which she knew I’d enjoy. And I knew I’d overeat. So, again, thinking fast, I asked her to put it in her freezer for Thanksgiving. The holiday that brings visions of pumpkins dancing in my head. Because that day I intend to (almost) guiltlessly indulge and the other guests will happily partake, leaving less for little old overeating me.
No One To Blame But Myself: And just when I thought the pumpkin onslaught was over, I brought more on myself. My husband and I were bringing a meal to a neighbor’s house to feed them and their out-of-town guests after a sudden death. We signed up for breakfast, because we thought that would be harder for other volunteers who actually have jobs to go to. Breakfast for a crowd. Timing unknown. What does one do in a situation like this? Bake. What do I know I can bake well enough to serve to others? Pumpkin bread. The recipe makes two loaves and the good news is that delivering the loaves intact allows for nary a nibble. So, along with fruit and bagels and juice and an egg dish, the pumpkin bread left my house, unsampled. As for the pumpkin bread batter, that’s another story. I licked the spoon and I liked it. (Yes, I’m singing that to Katy Perry’s tune.)
So, there you have it. Muffins and bread: zero. Karen: three.
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