So, I have this friend. I like her, she's nice, but. Right at the moment she wants to loose weight. Always after the last boyfriend dumped her and again when she finally meets someone.
"I'm having stomach problems. I can't eat right now."
"Okay, you wolfed down that Subway earlier pretty good, but hey, it's your stomach. And just because dinner came from the garden and I spent some time digging up the white radish and sun chokes to go with the oak-leaf lettuce salad and culled the Swiss chard for the tenderest greens I could fine for the pasta that's sitting on your plate untouched. And went to the trouble of cooking it when we could be at an In-and-Out with a bad ass double-double with a side of fries, but hey, I'll bag it for you, maybe later, you'll want some."
Why didn't she say, "I am totally stuffed from a twelve inch meatball sandwich. And can't eat anymore or men will hate me for being perfectly healthy."
I had to wash the damn plate too.
Oh, the dinner? Just about as good as you can get, especially with the price I charge. Zip.
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