Egg on Crib Pegs

As I sit in front of my computer, all I can think of is the huge piece of strawberry pie in the refrigerator. As my Ab Lounge gets dusty, and my muscles go into atrophy, all I can envision is the rhubarb and strawberry pie I ate today. As I look down at my tummy, and the muffin top that is hanging out of my pants, all I can think of is how the past few weeks of gluttony has adhered in the most unflattering way. The L'il Debbie's and the Twinky type things are a sudden onset addiction. I am starting to look like an egg on crib pegs. Now, about that strawberry pie that is beckoning me. Bartcliff's (I hope I am spelling it correctly) Bakery in Clinton Ontario, has the best strawberry pie in the world. They are not stingy on the strawberries. They are heaped on top of each other in the crust (which also happens to be divine), and then they cover the whole thing with whipped cream. The pie looks like a cosmic marshmallow. I am also lamenting the lack of rain. The clouds were ominous, big fat thunder heads were rolling across the sky. The air has been like a heavy damp blanket, and there was a few grumbles of thunder. A few drops of rain and that was it. No kabooms, or cracks of lightning, there was no pathetic fallacy to mirror the renovations we have been doing in our one rental, or the bickering between Adam and I. (He was getting mad because I kept sticking pieces of painter's tape on his appendages). Bummer.