My roommate wants me to be a fatty.

Yesterday afternoon I walked out of my room and found him making pancakes. From scratch. Apparently those didn't turn out so well. When I found him baking a cake (yes, baking a cake) ten minutes later I asked, "What happened to your pancakes?" He then reached into the trash can, pulled one out and said, "Feel this." So I grabbed him and he said, "I meant the pancake." Talk about awkward. So he left for the grocery store (to buy some frosting for his cake) and a few minutes later I found the dog eating his rubber-like pancake, which I thought was sweet that she didn't want it to go to waste. She'd actually reached in and grabbed it out of the trash. The little lover.

So thirty minutes later, he returns with his frosting and apparently decided that cooling a cake before frosting it is overrated. So now I have this tantilizing warm and gooey cake - my favorite type of cake, mind you (yellow wiith choc frosting) just sitting on the counter while I'm down the hall trying to write a paper. Of course the only thing on my mind is cake, cake, cake and so I have some. And when I returned home from study group at 1:30 am and found the roach to end all roaches atop Grady's door jar I thought to myself Well, cake really doesn't sound all that appetizing anymore. So I went to turn the lights off in the living room & kitchen and thought well, maybe just a few bites...