Tonight my husband had Thai food for dinner. I had soup. I’m looking into the trial separation thing. Nah, it’s not really his fault even though the scent of those spices was pretty motherfucking tantalizing. It’s the cursed socket that once housed a completely happy and well adjusted wisdom tooth.
Now that cursed socket is puffing out my cheek like one half of a poisonous blowfish and has developed its own heartbeat. And is denying me my hearts desire, which is apparently fried foodstuffs. Not usually one to crave the greasy gunk, I long for the satisfying crunch and resulting oily sheen of a good fried spring roll dipped in Mae Ploy. Chips and salsa are second on my wish list, but spice and sharp corners are out says my buzzkill of a doctor. Surprisingly, I am not hearing the siren call of the Tootsie Roll, but that’s likely because I am shoveling vanilla Cool Whip pudding into my gullet with wild abandon.
My gods people, I is hungry. If I gained almost two pounds while basically starving on cold, bland mush what will become of me next week when I’m re-released into my natural habitat? Somebody better make damn certain the fryer is full.