Damn You, Inferior Cupcakes

Okay, I don't really think that they're inferior.

But they might be.

The husband and I normally (and, by "normally", I mean every stinking Saturday, seriously) go to a chain cupcake place:  Gigi's.  Franchises don't immediately fill me with glee, but I figure that previously, this was one person who worked his or her ass off and made some really intelligent business decisions that I could only one day hope to replicate.

Today, since we have company coming and my pantry (and by "pantry", I mean the measly cupboard that's dedicated to foodstuff) seems to only have ketchup and Clif bars, I thought I would get some cupcakes.  I didn't think I would have time to drive over to Gigi's after work, so I went to a locally owned, locally known bakery that specializes in wedding cakes and also sells cupcakes.  I won't give their name (Tier 1) because I'm pretty damn pissed.

Actually, it's probably just my fault.

I got these six gorgeous, light and fluffy cupcakes.  Key Lime.  Tahitian Vanilla.  Red Velvet.  Cookies and Cream.  Vanilla Peach.  Salted Caramel Apple.

And she put them in three little boxes, shoved them in a Wal-Mart grocery bag and sent me on my way.

Two blocks.  I didn't even take the stairs.

When I got to my office, I had this:

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