My Profile
Older
E-mail
D*Land
Diary Rings

Can we just jump to January please? - 2014-11-14
A (don't kick the) Bucket List - 2014-10-28
Put THIS in your pipe and DON'T smoke it! - 2014-10-23
Max, Wolf, and the goats - 2014-10-15
Maloney for Congress - 2014-10-08

Join my Notify List and get email when I update my site:
email:
Powered by NotifyList.com

8:28 a.m. - 2007-04-18
Treacle and Honey

I just ate half a loaf of Italian bread.

Really.

With a light schmear of butter.

I was having carbohydrate anxiety.

This was triggered by running out of jelly beans three days ago and my (so far) staunchly held-to vow to ingest no booze of any sort until at least Thursday. I was becoming a lush. And Willy Wonka's love slave. Then to top it off Mick (knowing my thing for Cherry Garcia) totally force-fed me one of these yesterday in Shoprite's parking lot. Seriously, my man assaulted me with a 9,000 calorie milkshake. I had the expected foodgasm, then promptly began to cry. He cannot, MUST NOT keep buying me itty-bitty t-shirts then woo me with 12-packs of Blue Moon, demand I eat Frunions and pour Cherry Garcia down my throat. It just doesn't work like that. I'm not the one going to the gym 3 times a week to do grunty lifty things, I'm the one on her ass in front a keyboard for hours and hours a day toiling in obscurity until my big break comes and I become wildly famous and disgustingly wealthy.

I'm getting fat. And since I have little desire to court a hernia by doing grunty lifty things, the food-n-booze-a-rama has to stop. Going cold turkey was more difficult than anticipated though, thus the half a loaf of bread.

Since he was so polite about sharing my image the least I can do is be as thoughtful back and ask his permission first before posting, but, kids, let me tell you earlier tonight Mick sent a pic of himself half-nekkid chopping wood. Not the smartest attire for whacking at splintery, wood chippy chunks of log, for certain. But…WOW! Like a god. Steph's seen the muscles in person, so she'll vouch for me. I've gone all Janet Weiss here…

"I'm a muscle faaa-yannnn…"

~~~~~~~~~~~

And so it's the next morning. I'm due at the salon in 3 hours (hallelujah!), my house is a sty and Stephanie is coming over tomorrow (yay for visitors! boo for home grossiosity), I need to stop at the bank (phooey! 15 mile dogleg) to make a deposit and get money to buy lunch (money in- good, food- oy), a lunch which will be shared with Mick (YAY!) so of course rather than clean or do pilates I'm sitting here with a fresh touch-up coat of polish drying on my nails. Because making an appearance at Mick's school looking 100% fabulous is the top priority.

A funny from Monday. I was fixing lunch and chopping, grating, frying, and warming all at the same time, you know, being a total Iron Chef, and wanted someone to run down to the cellar to grab a couple more onions for me. I turned down the boom box and called out, "Honey…?" And got a reply in stereo. Both guys went, "What is it, hon?" I turned around and there was Mick standing in the doorway to the dining room ready to do my bidding and Mike was in the other doorway looking surprised and surly. I cracked up.

For certain, while completely undeserving of the endearment, Mike has been the 'Honey' for the last 25 years. Old habits die hard. He'd responded without thinking and was ticked when he twigged he wasn't the 'Honey' I'd called for.

Mick, on the other hand, totally grooves on the way I lard my speech with 'Honeys', Sweeties', 'Dearhearts', and the like. The women before me weren't big on endearments and pet names. My strapping light of life is a fool for my love talk and relishes saying sweetie things right back. Last week he admitted he'd never spoken that way to anyone before, not even his ex-wife, and was amazed at how easily those things came out of his mouth now. "Gee, Honeybunch, I guess I just needed to be with the right woman." Mad kisses all over my face. "Gorgeous, you are my darling, my sweetheart, my dearest love. Please tell me I get to call you 'Baby' forever."

Told him I'd think about it, but who are we kidding here? I am such a goner.


No fool like an old fool. ~LA

15 Wanna talk about it!

previous // next