May you never wish for something there's no way of getting

I think I had my very first, true-blue, pregnancy craving last night. It was random, out of the blue, and went unsatisfied.

Boo.

We had stir fry for dinner. It was good. I was full. But as Mikey did the dishes and I read some news (and looked up countless recipes that call for pumpkin) it struck and all I could think about was: Cinnabon. Warm. Gooey. Brown sugary caramelized goodness topped with melting cream cheese frosting. . . It was bad. I needed one. I was completely fixated on getting one. Cinnamon rolls and stir fry. The perfect companionship right?

After running to Mikey's parent's house I called Lil'Lou and asked her to find out if it was still in the mall. I'll save you the suspense. No it's not in the mall. No there's not another location in Provo. No I didn't get my Cinnabon. (Cue: glistening tear on my cheek).

Mikey, trying to be consoling because I was seriously nearly in tears, offered to get one at Sugar 'n' Spice at BYU. I thought it might live up to my need (seriously, it was a need) but by just looking at it through the glass window I knew it would only make me more sad.

But I bought it anyway. I bought the malformed, probably three-days-old, dry, waxy thing all because the girl working the register was so nice and asked how she could help. And I was desperate.

As soon as I tried a bite I almost threw it away. Poorest excuse for a cinnamon roll. Ever. Mikey suggested that I dig my way to the center (the best part, as veteran cinnamon roll eaters know) and see if there was anything worth eating in there. I'll save you the suspense again. No there wasn't. No I didn't finish eating it. Yes I did spit out bites in the bushes and dig frosting out of my mouth with my finger and fling it on a planter.

I was so sad. And for the next 2+ hours in the studio, only one thing consumed my thoughts: RIP Cinnabon.