I want to feed my man. I want to lean over and watch him take that first bite and see if he likes it. I want to delight him and impress him. If the way to a man's heart is through his stomach, I am right there. Long distance makes this difficult. I send him pictures of my lunch, pictures of my dinner, pictures of the groceries I am buying for tomorrow's dinner, but the poor guy isn't getting any of it. The time I send him beautiful chocolate cupcakes with ganache filling, he shows up at my door in Portland while they show up in his mailbox in San Diego. I am a woman on a mission. I cannot set steaming bowls of soup before him, but I will find a way.
When he returns to his mailbox five days later, he finds my cupcakes still in excellent condition. My baking isn't too shabby, and apparently I have mad packing skills.
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