Thursday, July 13, 2006

I am 16 going on 17, I know that I'm naiiiiiiive. Fellows a meet may tell me I'm sweet, and willingly I belieeeeeeve

I need to write today's post verrrrry quickly, before I recover from my current sugar high. Since having a baby, I have become an "opportunity eater", meaning if there is an opportunity to eat something/anything, I'll take it. This morning it was a raspberry cheesecake brownie, which is alternately making me sing songs from the Sound of Music and feel like vomiting. Honestly though, if it is on the counter and requires no preparation, I will eat it. Stale popcorn from last night? Yup. Half a piece of pizza we forgot to refrigerate? Bring it on. Anything that doesn't require any effort other than hand to mouth is free game.
I've decided that I am a buzzard, circling my next meal; not a vulture, as those are more devious and generally skinny. Buzzards seem awkward and bumbling, and large, and therefore a better descriptor. I'm sure that I have this all wrong and will soon receive an angry phone call from animal planet, but it makes sense to me.

Anywho. You may wonder why someone who's doctor told her to get off her rumpus and exercise is keeping cream cheese brownies in the house. I will tell you, young padawan. So last night, I asked my darling husband to get me a small treat on the way home from his errand running; preferably something with chocolate. When he got home, he had forgotten. Ah well, no harm no foul because he promptly grabbed his keys and headed for the door to try again.

You might imagine my surprise though when I walked into the bedroom 25 minutes later to find him playing with his latest new toy (palm pilot), completely oblivious to time, space, and the fact that he even has a wife, much less one he was planning on buying a treat for. Apparently in the 3.2 seconds it took him to go from the living room to the garage door, he suffered an aneurism and completely forgot who he was and continued on to the bedroom, where I found him. When my laser stare caught fire to his pantleg, he quickly regained consciousness and flew the house (could not think of the correct grammar for past tense flee. He fleed?). This is what he returned with, and I am kidding you negative:
1 Three Musketeers
1 Big Hunk
1 Skor
1 O'Henry
3 raspberry cream cheese brownies
1 bag of Dove milk chocolates
3, yes 3 pints of Haagen Daaz, various flavors
2 swedish chocolate bars
1 chocolate mousse
1 glass of chocolate milk

I just realized that the above looks like if you stuck it all in a blender and hit frappe, this could be a recipe for a diabetic death drink. As you may have noticed, my husband does not do anything halfway. At least it worked! Chocolate makes mouths happy. Or is that something else? I can't remember. I have to much sugar running through my veins to even see straight.


Jewels said...

Fled. He 'fled' the house. That happens to me when I have too much sugar, too. That mental dictionary short-circuits.

Um, if you didn't eat that Skor could you bring it with you shopping tonight?

Anonymous said...

"Diabetic Death Drink?" I nearly snorted Diet Coke out my nose when I read that.