It's a brownie kinda day

I feel like a brownie.  A really good brownie.  If I’m gonna eat a brownie, I don’t want mediocrity.  If I’m going to waste precious calories, fat and sugar on a single item, it better be damn good.  Otherwise it’s like paying for sex for only getting a hand job.

I walked into the office this morning and it smelled like brownies.  Which started my whole I-feel-like-a-brownie thing.  The smell actually hit me immediately upon the elevator doors opening.  It called to the estrogen and I got a craving.  Damn woman hormones!  I inhaled the rich scent of warm chocolately cake-like goodness into my office.  I promptly declared: “I smell brownies.”  Like I’m ousting someone.  Like I discovered a communist among the ranks and wanted everyone to know what a good little U.S.A-ian I am.  “No brownies,” someone responded, “but [so-and-so] used the toaster.”  Pivot, turn, confrontation.  “I smell brownies.”  Response: “Nope.  Bagel.”  My more than hopeful response: “Brownie bagel?”  Response: “Nope.  Regular bagel.”  My dejected departed.  End scene.

I still want a brownie.  Now it seems like a challenge.  Where am I going to find a brownie?  Now, where am I going to find a good brownie.  Can I find a brownie without calories, fat and sugar?

I suppose a brownie isn’t the best idea.  I am wearing a lovely ensemble that doesn’t leave enough room for breathing, let alone the bloated, quasi-pregnant stomach associated with eating (5) brownies.  And the pop of my shirt button exploding off my shirt would be distracting.