Feast or Famine

Three dining experiences are up for discussion. They are thus:

1. Went to Village Inn for lunch on Saturday. Now, if you've not been to Village Inn before, it's a step down from Denny's. I should've known, but they have a crispy chicken sandwich with ranch dressing that I CRAVE to a disturbing degree. So I order and read my newspaper, and wait and wait and finally get my sandwich. I open it up to slather a goodly portion of ranch dressing on it (see, I order it on the side so as to control my ranch intake-by which I mean I get to spread the whole tub MYSELF), and what do I find inside, but a hair.

Gross. Gross gross gross with an extra side of gross. I send the sandwich back and ask for a fresh one, all the while struggling to decide if I should even be staying here. I've been here lots of (too many) times before with no problems, so I don't run screaming from the joint. I also tend to give everyone on the planet the benefit of the doubt, and I don't get overly freaked out by those restaurant exposes on the news and vow never to eat out again. All places probably are dirty and/or have a sneezer working on your food. Get over it.

After I get another sandwich, I examine it carefully and find no problems, and am informed by the waitress that the sandwich was on the house. That's right it is. Then she tells me the reason I waited so long was the chefs collided just as one was plating my food and dumped it on the floor. Hmmm. Recycled sandwich with a hitchhiking stray hair? Could be. Could be I need to STOP EATING CRAP.

2. The Man and I went out on a date to a swanky joint called Eddie V's. We had to dress up, which means I had to shelve my beloved jeans and t-shirts and break out slacks and heels. Don't worry, I changed right back when I got home, so the business casual didn't get a chance to grab hold and INFECT me with style. The place was lovely, and the food amazing. But the MOST amazing part was that dinner was on The Man's company, so we ate and ate and ate, and then for dessert, we ate. Tempura Calamari, Crab Stuffed Shrimp, Ribeye, Garlic Green Beans, Corn Chowder, and made to order Apple Cobbler. Mmmmm, Deeeee-licious.

Rounded out the evening with a viewing of No Country for Old Men, which was then topped off with The Man explaining the finer points of the movie to me, as I get muddled easily by movies that don't involve animation or Sandra Bullock. Fine time had by all. AND did I mention the babysitter? Who does my dishes? And cleans the girls' rooms for them? WELL worth it.

3. Today I had another lunch to myself (I swear, I DO spend time with my family on the weekends!). I am trying to be good, and am really sucking at it. I ended my personal training at the gym two weeks ago, and have been back a sum total of twice since then. Have gained back 4 pounds and there are no signs of stopping. So, I consider my food options, give myself a talking to, and end up at Taco Cabana ordering nachos with sour cream and guacamole. It's all about control, people.

My number is called and I go to pick up my tray, only to find a REGULAR order of nachos, not the PERSONAL size order of nachos. See, the personal size is smaller, so it's not bad for you. Plus, it's personal, so it KNOWS me, and it feels my food pain and won't just callously attach itself to my a$$ like some REGULAR nacho would. Bastard.

I go get my receipt and find that I was charged for the regular size, and I bring this to the register gal's attention. Apparently this causes the time space continuum to collapse or something, because there were so many looks of dismay being exchanged between the cook, manager and register gal that I was afraid for my future self. I finally just said, never mind, I'll take the larger size. I KNOW, big of me.

However, remember that I'm eating by myself, dressed in my Sunday best, as I've come from church. I walk to a table by myself with a plate of nachos that would feed all of John and Kate's Plus 8 AND their friend with the quads. I sit at my table and refuse to look around to see who's judging me, and it's then that I become aware that it's lunch time for my family, and that they could conceivably pick this very restaurant to eat, and they will walk in and discover me at the nacho trough and I will have to go home in shame, knowing they have discovered how I REALLY eat when they're not around.

In case you're wondering, no one noticed me eating the giant nachos. I know this because THE WORLD DOESN'T REVOLVE AROUND ME. And also in case you were wondering, I only ate about half of the nachos, which perfectly equals a personal size serving. See, healthy.