Getting Baked

Budgeting is hard, especially since I don't make any money. Training is in the dumps.

Discretionary income?

Please.

So we tighten our purse strings. I can't spend over ten bucks without hearing it from Rara. "Three dollars, three times a week, is nine dollars, that's thirty six dollars a month that we could put away." So I try not to spend. I bought braided bully sticks for Mow the other day and was handed my ass on a platter. Damn that broad can do math quick. She figured what that would cost us over a millennium, then broke it down to me in terms I understood. "If we want to buy things for her to chew, maybe something else needs to go, like chips," referring to my inability to stop buying munchies. (Notice she didn't say wine.)

I feel guilty. Rachel gets up for work at 5am every morning. So do I, but I move from the bed to the couch, switching one snuggle buddy for another. The neurotic part of me feels castrated. I'm the man, (picture me beating my chest here), I should be bringing home the bacon.

On the other hand, we have gotten creative. We cook together more. Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, we huddle around the mixer, baking, sifting through cookbooks and magazines for recipes. We eat healthy for the most part, incorporating grains, fruits, and veggies, whenever we can. The challenge is to avoid ingesting five hundred calories before the batter even sees the inside of the oven. Time is spent contemplating baking them at all.

Ever notice how hard it is to make broccoli taste better and how easy it is to turn a sugar cookie into an insulin coma? The other night we made the aforementioned. Rachel made a sweet lemon glaze for the topping. I melted down chocolate. We voted on which were the best.


Any guesses?