Last week at work, there was a day in which I could not distinguish the feeling of love from the feeling of hunger. So I called CK to confer on this phenomena. After a bit of teleconferring, and based on the lack of an object for this emotion, we determined that it was probably hunger.
I went to the Dr the other week for a check up. My Dr is a cutie. He looks a little like John Larroquette during his "Night Court" days, only less greasy. My Dr is a wise guy (by which I mean funny) and doesn't seem to mind that I am one too. So he tells me that I am healthy with the exception of elevated cholesterol. Which led me for one week to try to implement the kind of diet that drives a girl to sneak ice cream and cheeseburgers in between austere meals. I call it salad in a pita with a slice of turkey. Horrendous. Without cheese, food became a lonely place and meals were dire.
So I have decided to embrace my mortality and my love of cheese. What is life without cheese? Culinary death.
Addendum: The Dr suggested that I stop having cream cheese with my bagel. I asked if butter was a reasonable substitute to which he shook his head. But he could offer me no alternative. The one that I have come up with is: peanut butter.
No comments:
Post a Comment