If you’ve been eating normal-people food, i.e., cheap/fast/easy, and you start sending down veggies and more veggies and whole grains? Your cells get a little confused. Like, “What are we supposed to do with this? The nuclei keep telling us it’s good for us, but it doesn’t taste right! Are you trying to kill us?”
And if you throw exercise into the mix? Whoa, dude! You get hungry faster. And you want more veggies. And your cells start marching around with little picket signs and hollering “One! Two! Three! Four! We don’t want these greens no more!”
So, yeah, it’s been a little crazier than usual, what with mitochondrial mutiny and nuking dinner in a dark kitchen and ending up with way too many albino vegetables.
Plus, there has been a dearth of smooching, which is crazy-making all by itself, but my fiendish plot involves a smooch or twelve at the intensely public, ferociously well-lighted airport when I pick up NintendoMan. Heaven only knows what his fiendish plot involves, but I hope that it includes at least a little hand-holding. [He’s a boy; of course he has a fiendish plot. This is why we like boys.]
I forgot that when you drink something using a straw, you tend to drink it faster. So when I started to wilt, mid-afternoon, and hauled out the 20-oz bottle of Cherry Coke which would ordinarily last me two days or more, and I poured it over ice in my insulated mug, all of a sudden I was talkingreallyfast.
Try to act surprised.
It is now 9:12pm, and the Cherry Coke has finally worn off, and I am going to bed, so that I may get up at dark-thirty and go play at the health club before tomorrow morning’s ward temple trip. There’s a dance tomorrow night, but jury is out on whether I will be going. It will depend upon my general energy level, whether I want to spare the gas, and if I am reasonably sure I will like the music. I will probably hit Fourthborn’s sometime during the day, as Faith’s eyes and wig arrived today, and the faceup and hoofie blushing may be done.
There were no culinary surprises at dinner tonight. Woohoos! all around.
- Four years into widowhood, after one year of incredible happiness and nearly 14 years of single blessedness. Have given up perfect manicures and pretty hands in order to resume playing the soprano recorder and to see if I can figure out how to play bluegrass banjo. Singing in the shower. Still really, *really* love to knit!