On my way home, I walked past a man selling slices of cheesecakes from a little wooden table.
Since it would have been an offense to life's goodness to not buy one, I did.
I got home, ate it, and then checked my texts.
A friend had sent me a message about the latest US political news, which made me immediately need another slice of cheesecake.
Plus, it was a friend's birthday back in the States, and since I could not be with him, it made sense to have my slice plus his.
All kinds of reasonable justifications for heading back out to the little table.
On my way there, I started to waiver a little bit about my mission.
But then, I found another loophole!
Since I would be going to go pick up my laundry a little late, what I would do would be to actually buy four more slices (stick with me, here) so that I could gift three of them to my laundry washing family/neighbors/new friends. One for the mom, one for the dad, and one for their daughter.
That felt better. Now I was no longer a will-less glutton; instead, I was a generous, community-oriented person. See how I did that?
But when I got to the little cheesecake table, there were only three slices left.
Which gave me relief.
My Essences of Decadence and Pleasure would be completely satisfied by treating my friends. My butt felt smaller already, just knowing I had dodged that extra piece of yumminess.
Back to my street, balancing the three boxes of pastries, I knock on the door of the lavanderia with a big smile.
"I have cheesecake!"
To which the mom answers: "Wow, that's wild, I just MADE cheesecake!" And then adds: "You must taste it."
Long story short, I left their house with TWO more pieces of cheesecake: the one she made (which was the best) and the one-from-the-little-table which they just had no room for.
I'll let you guess what happened once I got home. Let's just say it did not involve leftovers.
Yeah, so that's my story of Multiplying the Cheesecakes. Quite the parable.
SCARED OF THE SACRED