Dear Me

Look at you. Just look at you right now. Lying here. On this couch, with a fish-breathed cat shamelessly pestering you for lovings, blogging on your cell phone.

We need to have a chat, Me.

Now, I understand, yesterday got kind of rough on us. After all, we had the usual ‘up at 3:30, out by 4:20, office by 6:30, etc. etc. etc.’ day, and then there was that fun little grass fire in the hills that, in addition to scorching about 400 acres of ranchland, delayed the trains for almost two hours and wreaked havoc on body and mind.

And I understand that you were actually practically winter-wolf-hungry before you even left the office there; but I have to gently remind you, Me, that you could have eaten before you left. Or put something other than just that Thermos of plain water into your bag to eat on the train.

You did not have to be so hungry that the train seat cushions were looking tasty by the time you finally got to the home station, is what I’m trying to say here.

And I understand that you were more than the usual tired, and that everybody else had already eaten random things, and that we knew full well we were headed home to a kitchen that looked like a war zone and nothing ready to eat.

But…McDonald’s?

Really?

And sweetie…honey…look. I know you ordered the ‘regular’ fries and all, and that you even pointed out that the Super Duper Enormo Bucket’o’Fries they put in our bag was the wrong size and all like that…BUT…when they said ‘that’s OK, you can just keep them, have a nice night!’ and slammed the window in our faces, well.

That did not automatically translate to a moral obligation to actually eat them.

Furthermore – and I say this gently, and as one who loves you – but That Thing you do, where having gone ahead and polished off every.last.fry. before the wheels of the car even hit the edge of the driveway, you then look regretfully at the burger-shaped mass in the little box and say, “Ya, I’d better choke down at least some of this, balance some of that salt and grease with a little protein…”?

Your argument is invalid, dude.

First of all, this is not actually protein. I’m pretty sure it isn’t even meat.

And furthermore, it too is so loaded with salt and fat that it is a miracle we aren’t dead right now.

And you knew this. Your body was trying to tell you that before you even took that first bite of the sandwich. Remember? Remember how we already felt like we’d swallowed a refrigerator? Whole, and still in its shipping box?! Yeah. And then you took that first bite and our stomach did this astonishing triple-gainer and our brain lit up with all these signals that basically translated to, “If you take even one more bite of that, so help us, we will purge this system down to the last cell!!!”

…but ooooooh no. You ate almost half of that thing anyway, for the ‘protein’…

I love you, hon, but you are an idiot.

And you kind of deserve being woken up at 3:00 in the morning on a work-from-home day, and you know what else? You deserve this little unpaid “break” today, too…you’re just lucky we’re not in the middle of some big deploy or something right now.

And I hope that, in future, you will remember – people like us, who no longer have gallbladders to regulate fat-processing, and who furthermore usually eat a rather lean diet, really can’t handle the Bucket’o’Fries. Ever.

OK. Kisses and all that.

And a smack upside the head.

Because you are rather an idiot.

Love,
Me

Rejoinder:

Dear Me,

I would argue with you and possibly point out that there IS still a [very remote] chance that MAYBE it is actually the flu rather than Stupidity Plain And Simple, but, I am dying right now.

Sincerely,
{URP!} oooooh, come ON, seriously?! AGAIN?!?!

I took this from the train...the scorching was on either side of the train, and was still flaring up in places as we crawled through it...quite a commute last night!