"I want to fix you dinner Saturday and watch a movie or Olympics with popcorn and cocktails. Choco-chip pancakes and bacon Sunday morning."
I know. Right?
One of the things I like about him is how when he makes pancakes and bacon (the real deal, thick and chewy from a meat shop) for breakfast he makes a special flapjack - sans cocoa - for the dog. I find it charming and sweet.
My weekend in italics. Nope, not as pretty as some, waist definitely not as small or breasts as perky. My ass jiggles and puckers in spots. And I’m still the fat girl that gets the guys, the attention and genuine respect and adoration for doing little more than showing up.
And chocolate chip pancakes which, despite my current puff and quest to slim, I will eat. Happily. Because it’s Valentine’s Day breakfast and someone special is making them for me. I'm gonna lap them up and lick the plate.
There’s a spinning class Monday night.
Thank goodness the scale is down a pound this morning. Having no residual Post Menstrual Bloat (PMB) to blame a week-and-a-half after the ebb of the flow, can't blame the ever-inching-upwards weight gain on anything more than too sugary vodka drinks, late night gorging and skipping more and more days at the gym. Yesterday for the first time in years, perhaps a decade of doing it, I missed a deadline. Not late per see (and let’s face it I’m not curing cancer or world hunger or leading a Haitian relief fund here, I write marketing copy...perspective people), just won’t deliver with as large a cushion for second editorial review. And I’m okay with that. Because faced with yet another head down, very little movement from a sitting position, hands on the keyboard day of writing and editing and e-mails and images I chose instead to go for an hour of hard cardio. Even missed a conference call to do it, put myself before the work. As I sit here now, there’s a cat box to be cleaned, bed to be made, last night’s dishes to rinse (I like order, my house always looks like an extended stay hotel right down to the perfectly folded towels and clean soap) and instead I write.
Because like the gym, I've been putting my own words second lately too.
I can’t gain back any more of the 30 I lost. The eight I’ve got now has put a damper on weekend trips to Macy’s and left me a bit shy naked, in the belly region. My old nemesis.
But one never turns done food made with love. And chocolate chips.
Happy Valentine's Day.