When I got up this morning I found a bag of brown sugar on the counter. I saw that its corner had been chewed open and I suppose some of the contents eaten. Then I saw the large Dairy Queen bag beside it, and figured that the kids must’ve gone into some trance-like eating fest prior to bed.
Along with Nicky’s ridiculous whey consumption, they weekly consume four gallons of milk and a half gallon of creamo. I’ve found that almost no amount of food that I make is too much. The other day I made pounds of beef chow mein, and while making it I thought that I’d made enough for a small lion pride.
However, the three of them tucked into it like wild hyenas, devouring every last noodle. I’m not sure where it’ll all end for them, but I’ve been avoiding over-eating. The reason is quite simple: my friend Alison is coming at the beginning of September.
As well, when she’s here we’re hoping to get together with a number of the women with whom we went to school. Some of them have been my friends since grade one, such as Alison. So there’s absolutely no way that I can be seen at such an event fatter than a bloated Texan at a pig barbecue.
None of this is easy, as I insist on cooking and baking. For example, I made fabulous chocolate chunk and reverse chocolate chunk cookies for the web designer. The former were made with large pieces of Callebaut chocolate, which I always have on hand as I use it in my fruitcakes.
Can you imagine having kilos of chocolate in your house at all times? It is hell. But whenever I think of grabbing a huge hunk and cramming it down my throat, I think of how annoyed the women will feel if I show up thin. Surely to God that’s worth more than a few minutes of enjoyment.
And this week I’ve experienced so much frustration that I’ve wanted chocolate more than ever. I’ve been trying to do this idiotic newsletter since God knows when, and I finally wrote it. Then I proudly went to send it, and got a message back that it couldn’t be delivered! I nearly wept.
Then I signed onto Twitter, not knowing a damn thing about it. Margaret keeps trying to tell me how to do stuff with it, and I keep asking her things like, “Do I want to follow people, or be followed?” She is getting to understand that machinery and I do not mix.
At this point I think that all I can do is imitate that kid from the movie, Oliver. I’ll just have to go to businesses with a fruitcake, and offer it them, saying pathetically, “Please, sir……” Maybe if people just meet me and eat the product I can get out of this horribly painful, and very frustrating social media stuff.