Drive-by cheesecaking

I was just drive-by cheesecaked.

Ok, so there was no vehicle involved. And being cheesecaked does not mean having it thrown at you (but that would have been fun - food fights are a rare treat for me). No, drive-by cheesecaking is far more sneaky than the name implies.

I had just finished lunch at work and was busily washing my fork at the sink. It was a healthy lunch of Lean Cuisine's chicken and vegatables with noodles dish, and while fork-washing I was proudly congratulating myself on my iron will, my strict control, my quick and easy avoidance of the snack machine and all the chocolatey goodness it promises. The boy and I are finally starting a diet as soon as we go grocery shopping tonight, and I thought I'd get a head-start with a healthy lunch. Despite wanting a snickers, or a box of junior mints, or a package of powedered-sugar-covered donuts, I had swiftly turned away from the snack machine and my still demanding belly (I'm used to eating more than one of those little cuisines). I had a wickedly prideful little grin on my face, I'm sure.

I wasn't the least bit concerned when the door to the lunchroom by the snack mahcine (which opens into the production department, where I work - how's that for temptation?) opened and someone strode very quickly through the room and out the other door next to the sink, which connects up to the rest of the building. They walked so fast I didn't see who it was, but had a sneaking suspicion it was my boss. He's always running to and fro, fixing disasters and plugging in computers that people are convinced are fried, without breaking a sweat. Figuring he was off on another such save-the-day-venture, I dried my fork and thought nothing of it.

When I turned around to head back to my department, I froze in horror at what had magically appeared on the table during the ten seconds in which I cleaned my fork. While they strode by so quickly that I didn't have the chance to recognize them, the fast-walker had placed a large plate of cheesecake on the table. It was the variety plate, with regular cheesecake, and chocolate, chocolate swirl, chocolate with white chocolate chips, berry swirl, and some other variety that looks as if it might contain cinnamon in large amounts. The kind made at upper-class grocery stores, which probably costs an arm and a leg and the other arm, too, but which is so disgustingly delicious that people line up for it anyway, severed limbs outstretched, hopping and saying, "Oh, please. Oh, please! Me next!"

*Sigh*

I have never been much enamored of cheesecake - it's always been too rich for me - but lately I've taken a liking to it. Like, a big liking. It's the boy's fault. He loves it, and I have a bite or two whenever he has some, and recently that bite or two has turned into us splitting a slice ... or two ... fairly evenly. My iron will crumbled.

I halved the one slice of berry-swirl (strawberry, it turns out) and, feeling horridly guilty, devoured it at my desk, hoping no one would see. My boss did indeed turn out to be the cuplrit (sneaky, sneaky, Mr. Boss-Man) and I light heartedly chewed him out. He grinned the whole time, of course.