Miss Piggy

How much dessert can an SJG eat in one week?  A ridiculous amount.  Why do my best peeps want to fatten me up at this celebratory time?  Let's review the desserts that are soon to land on my backside, if they haven't already.  On Monday I hit a new level of gluttony.  At lunch with Carla and Cami, a cookie platter, plus a caramel-filled slice of heaven.  Double oink. On the way back to Sherman Oaks, I stopped by the home of Connie Ray, star of Broadway, film and flat screen -- everyone should have at least one friend like Connie in their collection.  She took time out of her busy day to offer up "something I made for you."  She's such a crafty gal, I assumed it was a candle or a needlepoint pillow, embroidered with my name.  I was wrong.  It was much better than that.  Two blueberry-lemon tarts she made from scratch.  Have I ever made anything from scratch?  Let me think about that.  No.  I told her I couldn't possibly eat the tarts just yet.  "I'll take them to go."  She ignored me, lit a candle, the kind you can't blow out, it just keeps relighting (actors!) and watched me huff and puff.  As she sang to me in her stage voice, I may have passed out, briefly.  Out of pity, she wrapped up the desserts and sent me on my way.  She had a plane to catch.  "I will treasure these tarts forever," I said, as she shoved me out the door.  "Go home and eat them," she said.  At home, hubby and the first born presented me with a mocha cake.  Can I get an oink oink oink?  I ate a dainty slice, lest I start an international incident.  Much later, twenty minutes or so, we shared a Connie-made tart, just so that I could text her:  "Oh my God, delish!"  We ate the second one the following night.  By now, I've lost track of the other desserts people have foisted on me this week, out of love, but they've all been yummo, I assure you.  Tomorrow, I get to foist a birthday cake on Tim, in honor of his 40th.  Naturally, I'll have a tiny slice.  It would be rude not to partake.  Quadruple oink.