Vice: (n) a slight personal failing; a foible.
(depending on which definition you choose, it can also mean 'a serious moral failing', but I choose not to acknowledge this definition in reference to how it may or may not pertain to my slightly excessive love of food)
I don't have many vices. I also don't have much willpower, which means that my only vice pretty much rules me.
Food rules me. I really, really, really love food. I like to cook it, I like to watch other people cook it, I like to think about cooking it, I like shopping for it, and most of all, I like eating it. I spent the better part of my day today daydreaming about a cake...a ridiculous, over-the-top, completely unnecessary cake that I wanted to consume with voracity. I even designed it in my head. I wanted it to be a devil's food cake with milk chocolate icing, along with Cool Whip, caramel, and Heath bar pieces to lovingly place on top of the cake. For some unconscionable reason, this cake didn't manifest itself at my work like I wanted it to, and I made the 30 minute drive home in a perpetual state of wantcake-ness.
Long story short: Girl wants cake. Husband is smart. Husband sends girl to Publix for cake ingredients even though he really needs to leave for work but can't leave the kids home alone while girl is at Publix shopping for cake ingredients. Girl makes cake. Girl now has both happiness and cake.
P.S. No ordinary cake would do. For today, it had to be a devil's food layer cake, with the bottom layer soaked in caramel, iced with milk chocolate icing, and topped with Heath bar pieces. Then the top layer was applied directly to the forehead - I mean to the bottom layer, and the entire cake was covered in milk chocolate icing. THEN I topped it with lots of little dollops of Cool Whip, drizzled it with caramel, and sprinkled mini chocolate chips all over it. Hubba bubba, y'all.