I'm so ashamed

I'm not much of a sweet eater but I do get a "sweet attack" occasionally. It's usually easily satisfied with a container of fruit yogurt. If it's a really bad bout, I grab a Twinkie from the box I bought months ago.

But when I saw that cake sitting on Sheila's kitchen table a few weeks ago I asked her, if she could, to save me a slice. I HAD to have some.

Each year with our birthdays only a week apart, Sheila and I throw our own birthday party on the Saturday in between, and invite whoever we damned well want. It's BYOB and while we do the bulk of the cooking, some people bring dishes with them. This year we added a twist: Paula Dean.

Most of what we cooked would come from her recipes. And that cake, Sheila said, was one of them.

You can eat hot wings, ribs, pulled pork and a host of other foods while drinking beer, but chocolate cake? Uh, no. Definitely not me, anyway, which is why I'd asked her to try to save me a slice. Except instead of saving a slice, before anybody got any she stashed a HUNK of it away.

For me.

And giggled evilly when she handed it to me the next day after we were done cleaning up.

That night the horror began. It continued for two more nights after. I'd tell myself to STOP. To put it back in the refrigerator, or with as rich as that cake was I'd be sick.

Did I stop?

Hell, no.

On the fourth night, with none left, I still wanted more.

I was safe, I thought. I'd get over it. Except I didn't. Each night my craving got worse. And worse still each night after. But I'd be okay, I told myself again and again, because I didn't have the recipe.

Then, completely and TOTALLY by accident, I found it in Paula's cooking magazine.

(Sheila and I both subscribe.)

Besides, I didn't have a bunt pan to bake it in!

(So I bought one. And then on the way home, picked up the two ingredients for it I didn't have.)

Once the Double Chocolate Chip Pound Cake cooled, I cut it into quarters.

I gave one quarter to Da Kid and Herself. Another I took to her parents. And laughing evilly -- paybacks are hell -- I brought the third quarter to Sheila.

The other quarter, the last one, is mine.

All mine.

MINE!

~~~~~
(For some reason I can't exactly put my finger on, I strongly suspect the person who posted the recipe seemingly as her own, also subscribes to "Cooking with Paula.")