A summer evening's walk for fat-bombs

A few minutes after I put up my previous post, my girls began lobbying me to take them to Ganache for dessert. Uh oh.

Sensing an imminent "hypocricy moment," I acquiesced only on condition that we walk to Ganache. They complained bitterly at first, but finally gave in (it's only a 10-minute walk from our house).

The Ganache cakes were great, as always. The girls each had slice of Black Cow (chocolate cake with cream cheese frosting), and I had the Italian Creme. We sat on the roof, listened to the locusts, and discussed the water holding capacity of camels, the role of wealth in choosing a mate, and the decline of the martini.

On the way home the girls told jokes, had races (during which the remains of Claudia's boxed Black Cow were reduced to pulp), sang marching chants, and did much giggling.

Walking is good. Cake is good. Being the father of girls is good.