Yesterday we had ourselves a big old family barbecue at my house. Short ribs, spicy pork, steak, hot dogs and vegetables all went on my grill. Yes my grill. I am the griller in the house. Da Man does not grill, unless you consider burnt things barbecued. Weirdly enough, I love to grill. Something about standing in front of hot flames watching your food cook is very satisfying to me. And the taste, muy magnifico!
But when you invite a whole lot of people to your house, they usually show up with extra stuff, like fruit salad, wine, beer and dessert. And the rule at a barbecue is that you eat until you explode. And yes, I exploded. I started with a nice Corono light to drink as I grilled, I ended in a food coma on my sofa.
I tried talking to my stomach.
"Now Cupcake! (my girls named my stomach pooch, Cupcake) I need for you to behave! You only need that one plate of food."
Three plates of food later, I'm wrestling Cupcake away from the chocolate covered cream puffs that Da Man bought to torture me with.
Now let me explain. My plates of food are nowhere near as full as other peoples plates. Because I cannot have different types of food touching on my plate. Fruit cannot touch my meats and veggies. Dessert must be on a separate plate. Condiments must stay in their perfect little corners. Bread must be unsoggy and protected from all other items on my plate. And God forbid if some pickle juice taints any of my other foods! However, it is amazing how much food I can pile into discrete non-touching piles.
Angered by my forcible separation from the dessert table, Cupcake started hitting on the chocolate covered cream puffs telepathically.
"Hey little babettes of chocolate covered goodness, why don't you roll on over here so I can lick some of that creamy goodness all over my belly."
The cream puffs giggled coquetishly all the while exposing their rich chocolate glazed silky smoothness.
In alarm I tried to have an exorcism, "Evil Cupcake, foul beast! By the Power of Christ, Begone Wretched Eating Demon!"
Cupcake just looked up at me and said, "Bitch, get your fat ass over to those cream puffs and feed me some of their luscious goodness before I have to give you some serious intestinal pain."
Round 2 to Cupcake. Tomorrow I shall institute a truce of some kind. But today, we are battling Round 3 over the Carvel ice cream cake currently sitting in my freezer.
*** Don't forget to come Wednesday for a discussion and Q&A session with Dr. Gigi Durham, author of The Lolita Effect, The Media Sexualization of Young Girls and What we can Do About It.***