I'm Turning Into Zach

I made pastry cream this afternoon to eat with some fresh strawberries that are cluttering up my refrigerator. All well and good right? (I mean, in case I haven't mentioned it, I've turned into a little bit of a home made foodie who bakes her own scones, and makes pudding from scratch, and generally lives the high life.) But while I was waiting for the custard to cool and set . . . I, well, I couldn't wait. So I just mixed a little heavy cream with a splash of vanilla and a pinch of sugar and poured it over strawberries and sliced almonds, and holy hell was it delish. But that is NOT something I do! I don't just EAT heavy cream! I NEVER have heavy cream in the house! This is a step too far! (In case you are wondering, I seriously feel that this deserves those four exclamation points. I am that horrified by my actions.) It's one thing to eat the fruits of my labors that just happen to be rich and decadent and slightly out of control. But you need to deserve those decadences. You need to have mixed and measured and applied heat and risked making something completely inedible. You can't just top something with heavy cream and be OK with it! This is a sign that my friendship with Zach, someone who drinks heavy cream straight from the carton, has gone too far. The next thing you know I'll be taking afternoon tea on every day off, ironing my pillow cases, developing an obsession with the Mitfords and stalking Edwardian strawberry forks on Ebay! Oh. Crap. Two out of four already.