I blame it on the sugar

You really need to remember my August=Birthdays=Extra Calories post to get the full humor of this story.

Yesterday was the birthday of another employee, a personal trainer, so I stopped by to wish a happy birthday. Now, normally you wouldn't be caught dead in a gym eating cake or baked goods but there was a big cake and dozens of little cupcakes for all to partake in, staff and members.

It was easier than usual for me to decline because I found out that the cake was made from eight packets of a meal replacement that we sell in a powdered form. Yeesh, no thanks. Even if it was 'rationalization' to eat the cake, it just smelled like sugar and fat. But it gave me a jones for sweets the rest of the day and could not resist a big plate of peanut butter and chocolate chip brownies with fudge frosting when I got home. Boy did it mess with my gut, all that sugar and sweetness.

So I was having a terrible time going to sleep, exacerbated by Mighty Mo who is getting his molars and needed some comfort time late into the night. So I made the decision to catch extra sleep in the morning and take a longer lunch to workout.

So right around 0500 when Mistress realized I was still in bed instead of deep into my run she nudged me asked if I was still going out to train, meaning "Hey you slept in you idiot."

Mind you I was asleep when I answered her with, "Honey promise me you won't be a prostitute for your mother."

After a flurry of gruff slaps about the head and shoulders, I awoke to Mistress telling me all sorts of unkind things that I could do with my body. Once she sorted out that I was asleep when I said it, she realized that:

1) I don't think she is a dirty whore, unless she wants me to,
2) I don't think her mom runs a dirty whore business, regardless of if she does or not,
3) I am not allowed in bed past 0415,

Once all that was sorted out, I just had to make sure of one more thing:
4) She won't raise my son in a whore house.

I can't help myself, I blame it on the sugar.