Want to know something that makes me happy? Mini food! Not real food. Oh, No No No. We're not talking white castle burgers vs. quarter pounders here. I mean fake food. Plastic replicas of whole meals on trays. So cute! I picked up an addition to my collection last Saturday, or more accurately, I started a collection as you need at least two of something to say you "collect" them. Look, Look. See, see see!
I'm not really sure what kind of soup it is. Clam Chowder maybe? I really like the peanut butter bunny design on the bread slice. And I adore the little odd triangle milk carton thingy. And, and, and (excited hyper state here) look at the texture of the orange, it even has, well, texture! Seriously. Cutest. Things. Evah.
Note that there is no dessert on the above plate. No sugary calorie laden frosting covered chocolate filled fried mountain of diabetic coma in food form with ice cream on the side. More's the pity. And such is my fate for the next 36 days. I've given up desserts for Lent. I'm not catholic and I've never celebrated Lent before, but I thought I'd give it a go. Especially since over the holidays I overloaded my poor stomach with so much food I was afraid I might have turned myself into a diabetic. I'm not even kidding. (I seriously had my moms cousin come over with his glucometer and test my blood sugar) So, I'm on day 4 and doing surprisingly well. No withdrawals. No shaking. No violent tendencies, manic outbursts, or fits of depression. Not that I've started eating super healthy. I'm not all brown rice all the time. I'm just not eating dessert like food stuffs. We'll see how long I last. I'm hopeful. Ask me in two weeks how I'm doing. If I try to bite your head off, literally maybe if you have any sort of frosting laden crumb clinging to your chin, please stuff a doughnut down my throat. One with white fluffy filling and lots of sprinkles on it. Thank you.
And speaking of non healthy, I've heard about something perfect for my non dessert regimen. I don't normally eat much fast food, but KFC has come up with a new sandwich called the "Double Down" that I would rock in a heart beat. And after eating this there really is no guarantee how many times your heart will beat before succumbing to the greased calories shooting through your arteries. The Double Down "consists of two fried chicken fillets wrapped around bacon, cheese and Colonel's sauce" Read that again. Fried Chicken, Bacon, Cheese, and sauce. ... Let it sink in. ... Light Bulb! That's right. No bread. The "bun" is chicken, the "patty" is bacon, the "cheese" is well ... cheese. Read all about it here. I would so try that. I wonder if you have to sign a health waiver first? No, seriously, there are much worse things you could eat. Well, Ok, not much, but there are worse.....
And if you eat one of those protein on crackwiches and have a heart attack, you better hope that I don't walk by you because I will just leave you sitting there half in your seat half out of it with your hands clutched to your chest and on the verge of death. Not because I want you to die, but because I will not notice you. I just don't pay attention to people. That's seriously what happened to my mom and I last Wednesday when we went out to eat. We walked in the first set of double doors and I proceeded to go into the second set, but mom stopped. SHE noticed the woman slumped in the booth with her body leaning heavily to one side, her mouth hanging open, and her eyes glazed over. She looked very bad. I was afraid she was dead. Mom propped her up and kept trying to talk to her. I went inside to tell them to call an ambulance. Luckily there were two EMTs in the restaurant and I have no idea who told them about the woman, but within a minute they were there with her and were getting their instruments out of their truck. The lady snapped out of it and started to look better, her color came back, she started mumbling. They took her away to the hospital but, until then, it was scary. Mom said it was the closest she's ever come to thinking she'd have to do CPR on someone. I really would rather not be present when someone dies. Death just makes me .... I can't even describe it. But I'd rather not have to. So, Death, Mr. or Mrs. Grimm Reaper, please don't come and take anyone when I'm nearby. Please? If you don't, you can have my dessert. Well, at least for the next 36 days. After that, all bets are off baby.