I was exhausted. Painted all day in an non-airconditioned house in 95 degree humid, humid, HUMID heat. We have new renters coming into the rental house up in Walkersville, and we are trying to spruce the place up a bit, and make it welcoming. ( I even bought a “Home Sweet Home” garden rock. AWWWwwwww!)
Fast forward to me this afternoon, splattered in white and ‘Cool Platinum’ (aka, tan) paint, with sweat in every possible crevice in my body. Oh heck, at my weight, we might as well call them crevasses. (That’s a climber/spelunker/fat chick joke if you missed it. Is this thing on? Try the fish.) My cool dri-more underwear was neither cool, nor more dry. To sum the situation up that was ME, I had lost that fresh feeling.
What did I turn to for solace?
Alcohol? Nope, I was already dehydrated.
Chocoate? Nope, my kids finished off the last of my Hershey’s Treasures, leaving only My Captain’s Special Dark – and who the heck wants that? Not me, that’s who. I swear, that man likes his coffee and his chocolate like his wife – dark, strong, and bitter.
No, my friends, I turned to some leftovers in the fridge that, frankly, you’d never suspect could be used to placate a weary and grumpy mama.
Broccoli Salad, or as I like to call it, “Broccoli Crack.”
You can’t just eat a spoonful of this stuff. That would be like having one piece of popcorn, or one potato chip, or one kiss from My Captain. It just could never, ever be enough.
Broccoli, onions, mayo, sugar, vinegar, raisins, sharp Vermont cheddar cheese, and the MAIN REASON I EAT THIS: BACON. Seriously, more bacon than is reasonable. I used three big clumps of broccoli, and a whole pound of bacon. A whole FREAKING pound. Because I don’t mess around, that’s why.
Will I die early? Perhaps. Will I be miserable with all the extra weight I carry around until I die early? Of Course. Will I be unable to run because the friction of my thighs rubbing together would start a small fire in my crotch?
Wait, did I just say that? God, it’s like I have NO filter. My poor children. What was My Captain thinking when he asked me to marry him?
He never really asked me to marry him, you know. He just informed me that he would be taking care of me for the next 40 years. I guess if I live past 40 years from that day, he’s planning on kicking me to the curb.
What the heck was I talking about?
My point, dear friends, is that if you are having a really tough day, don’t reach for the booze and the chocolate. Reach instead for the healthier bacon….er, I mean broccoli salad. It will make you happy again…at least until you remember that you have to go back to the rental house tomorrow for another fun-filled day of painting and crevasse sweat……