Too Much Trouble

I wanted a loaf of the homemade bread.
Probably the apple crumb, but there was also a blueberry strudel one.
I looked them over, picked them up, read about where they were made.
They were rather expensive, but they looked amazing.
I imagined having a slice with my coffee the next morning, or maybe for dessert that very night with tea.
If I bought it, though, I would have to share it.
Then I'd have to help figure out how many carbs were in it.
I'd have to wonder all night, or all morning, whether I'd guessed right.
I might be up giving juice at 2 a.m., or distracted every few minutes by Dexcom alerts all morning.
Chances are the bread would be good enough that my daughter would want another slice.
The whole guess/wonder/deal with the outcome process would begin again.
We'd already had cider donuts as an afternoon treat. We'd all enjoyed random but delicious treats the night before at a marching band event.
I was tired of guessing carbs and dealing with the aftermath.
I did not bring home any bread.
It was too much trouble.

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