Portuguese sweet bread. Pao doce.
My MIL dropped some by for DH last night, and then left. DH was not home. It was just me and the sweet bread. Did I mention that sweet bread is one of my most favorite things ever? See, DH is a skinny who's been a skinny all of his life, no matter what or how much he eats. So I've recently learned that I am able to resist whole boxes of candy bars in the fridge -- also, popcorn and Ding Dongs and chips and any number of snacks in the pantry. I'm not even really tempted by these things. But bread? The bread in the cupboard calls my name louder than any Twinkie could. Any kind of bread, even the regular ol' white sandwich bread that DH prefers. And I can't even think about tortillas without a little pang in my tummy and tear in my eye. I love sweet, salty, sour, pretty much all foods, but bread is my all-time yummiest yum. And now there's a warm loaf of sweet bread in my kitchen.
Guess what? It was still there this morning when I woke up and it's been there all day. Yup, just me and the pao doce, kickin' it. It has no power over me. I even unwrapped it and cut a slice for DH this evening and did nothing more than inhale deeply of it's wonderful aroma. Yeah, I pretty much shoved my face into it last night when MIL dropped it off, too.
I have never denied myself like this before (Hello? That's why I'm a fatty-fatty-2x4!). I wouldn't have thought it would be so easy, so NO BIG DEAL. I have unplumbed depths of strength. Who knew?