Fatty McWeekend

My weekend was pretty uneventful. It usually is, and that's really okay with me. Though, this weekend I had some fatty run-ins. Since you're dying to know about them, I'll tell you.

Friday: I went to see a movie with Laura (Skinny). While at the mall, I thought I would get a snack to bring into the movie so that I wouldn't be totally starved when I went home later. Problem is, I was with Laura. Normally, I'd get an order of lo mein, a coke and some egg roles and enjoy a fabulous movie going experience. But, I couldn't. Instead, I got a fat free lemon poppy seed muffin. It was not good. Actually, it was horrible. Even I couldn't eat it. It was a cross between the sole of a shoe and lemon glass cleaner. Sitting sadly back in my theatre seat, I almost wept.

Saturday: I went over to my brother and sister-in-law's house for dinner. They put me in charge of ordering the pizza. I was excited because I get to order from a pizza place that we used to get every Friday as kids. They became to know us, or me most importantly, so well that one year I got a Christmas card from them. Every Friday was the same. I'd pick up the phone, dial the number by memory and order an extra large cheese pizza which would leave just enough left to have an awesome feast of cold pizza for breakfast. Yummy. But, sadly I moved out of the delivery area and thus, a tradition was broken.

So, I called them up, still remembering the phone number like I was 12 again and ordered. And guess what happened? He remembered me! I don't know if it was my voice or my name, but he remembered me making that one of the fattest moments in my life.

When I bit into a slice, it was like coming home again.

Sunday: Nothing really special happened on Sunday, except for the fact that I had bought a chocolate chip Danish to devour. I wasn't sure when to eat it, knowing that when I did the build up of the anticipation would be gone. Such is all trysts with food. Sad.

When I got home after running some errands, I noticed my brother's car in the driveway. When I got to the kitchen I noticed that my Danish was missing. While I almost started putting up Missing signs around the neighborhood, I first asked my brother (who is 6'1 190, the basic equivalent of Arnold Schwarzenegger to my Danny Devito), if he ate my Danish. Yes, yes he did.

Was I going to cry? No. He'd call me a fat ass if I did...but I did mourn the loss of my Danish, for a couple of hours. When he finally left, I looked at the empty danish box, and cried myself to sleep.