If you know Spike at all, you know he's very enthusiastic about food.
Plus he's very lovable.
On Sunday, someone who loves him and knows how he feels about food
brought a little giftie to church for him.
Actually, I'd like to point out that the card inside had both of our names, but he said that since his name came first, it was really for him.
I said that since the giftie was a container of butter tarts, it was for me.
We disagreed. He handed one - ONE! - to me, took the rest and went home.
Monday morning, the alarm clock went off at a very dark, cold and ungodly hour. I dropped him off for his next road trip and came home. Went back to sleep. Got up, had some coffee. Studied. Ate breakfast. Studied. Realized I was hungry. Opened the fridge to see what might be there.
Oh my. Oh no. Oh yes. Oh dear.
Spike left his butter tarts!
I'd like, at this time, to tell you all about my incredible self-control
and self-sacrificing love for him at that moment.
I'd like to tell you about it.
But I can't.