It's ten o'clock at night, and the food I just consumed was entirely unnecessary. I wasn't starving - I just knew that if I didn't eat something right now, I'd resort to my default for the past few days - Halloween Loot. So really, you could look on what I just did as a heroic act of desperation, a sacrifice in order to preserve the candy for the children.
Well, whatever. The truth is brutal and stinky: I ate, by the spoonful, one of my favorite foods in the world. Spinach-Artichoke Dip, made my Costco, straight from the tub.
It's not like there aren't plenty of other things to eat, by the spoonful, from the tub. Ice cream, for instance - which we also have on hand. Or peanut butter, in a pinch. These things leave a pleasant aura in their wake, and probably produce sweeter dreams - for both the consumer and the consumer's sleeping partner. But Spinach-Artichoke Dip? Made with Garlic? (Note that hte capital 'G' is denotes the ingredient's preiminence in the amount-used-per-ounce equation.) Well, let's just say that after the deed, the news of my past preceeded me.
"What's that smell?" Chris asked, a full two feet from my person.
I turned my head away before answering. "I said you wouldn't like what I just ate."
He groaned. "I hate that stuff!"
I spoke carefully, using the side of my mouth located the farthest from my husband's nose. "Well, I can't help it: I think it's fabulous!" With that I left the kitchen, pungently awaare of my undersirable conditon. Even the cat didn't follow me: My folly was truly complete.
But really ... maybe folly isn't quite the right word to use. I knew what I was doing when I went for that plastic tub full of goodness. I knew and I willinginlgy engaged. There are times in a woman's life when caution can rightly be thrown to the wind (heaven help us if caution has a garlicky hint, and the wind shifts directions mid-toss) and a few simple pleasures indulged. Tonight has been one of those nights.
I sat in my bathtub for the better part of an hour.
I cried on the phone with my sister.
The water grew cold - I pruned up to look like a futuristic version of my eighty-year-old self. And still, I kept right on sitting.
Sure, I knew it was silly - a grown woman sitting naked in a tub of tepid water, emoting over the miles to another grown woman while her pores slowly absorb a good third of the liquid in which she's been soaking. Sure, it would have been wiser to throw on a towel and sit, like a rational person, on the couch. But 'rational' doens't always equal 'right. Sometimes an absurdly long bath or a sponful of stinky dip is just what the doctor ordered. Adult responsibility is noble and all, but it can only carry me so far before we both need a bit of a break.
And you know what? I think that's swell. The Grind is good, while it lasts. But unless it is tempered with moments like these, it quickly turns into a curse - one long, protracted groan of boredom that drives away all the benefits of persevering in less-than-ideal conditions.
So maybe my tastes are eclectic. Maybe I could have munched on some spearmint instead of the equivalent of twelve cloves of garlic. But I don't do this that often, and it could have been so much worse - just ask my husband what garlic and bananas do to my essence! Besides - the night is still young, and my responsible self still hasn't kicked in. I could always chase this down with a few spoonfulls of ice cream, while sitting on the roof, in my jammies. That would improve things quite nicely! In think I hear it calling my name ... and it says I should share with my husband. Oh, wait! I've been instructed to share with you, too.
Care to join me??
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