Monday, November 18, 2013
Okay, so I went out for my birthday dinner with my beloved. We went to a nice Italian place we haven't been to in ages. I opted for a Cesar salad before hand, but forgot to ask for the dressing on the side. When my entree came, I ate only about a third of it and asked for the rest to be boxed. And I only had two tiny pieces of bread with olive oil and pesto... A major win because I live and breathe warm, fresh bread. But then they brought out the birthday dessert, and I went a wee bit nuts. Instead of taking home two thirds, or even a half, I polished it off. And, dear heavens, I'm paying the price!
I'm so full that I can barely breathe. The unaccustomed rich food has now expanded to fill all available space and I'm a little queasy. I should have asked that they only bring me out a half portion, and had them box up the rest for tomorrow. Obviously, I need to rethink my dining out strategies a bit better and realize that when presented with my absolute favorites, I have little self-control.
Ah, well. In any case, I made it through 50. Much farther than I ever really dreamed I'd get. I'm happily married. I have time to write. I have loving, nutty fur-kids. And at least I made a step in the right direction in attempting to reduce the damage of a decadent dinner out. I'm still a work in progress, even if I AM older than dirt. hehehe