I refuse to believe that people actually go to Mrs. Fields in order to purchase...bananas. Surely the only point of spending your hard-earned dollars in a Mrs. Fields is to acquire warm, gooey semi-sweet chocolate chip cookies (with or without walnuts). Who goes there to be healthy?
(This thought brought to you by the large basket of bananas at the Mrs. Fields in the Charlotte, NC airport.)
I'm working on scenes of Bible reading in Victorian historical fiction, an endeavor which occasionally leads me to seek much-needed recreation...elsewhere. (Very elsewhere. Far elsewhere.) In a spirit of complete non-intellectual activity, here is Cake Wrecks, devoted to professional cake-decorating gone not only haywire, but positively superkerflooey. I now feel a sudden urge to avoid anything that looks like cake, for some reason. (With any luck, this will be a temporary side-effect. After all, once I get this monograph fully drafted, I plan on celebrating with a slice of "Death by Chocolate," or something similarly decadent. Because if you're celebrating a book manuscript, your slice of chocolate cake has zero calories. Right? Riiight.) Via.