It's not often that I obsess about food.
Today was an exception.
Well, I think. Are there are a lot of other days that I obsess about food, and I just don't remember them?
Anyway, today, from the time I got moving until I got back from the ranch, I was thinking about fish sandwiches. McD's. And then I admitted I really didn't need the fries, so I was going to make fish stick sandwiches: four fish sticks on a hamburger bun with white american cheese and a hint of tartar sauce. I picked up buns at the store, piled into the kitchen -- and discovered we had not one damn fish stick in the house.
I was too tired to make another foray to the store, so I made do with pre-cooked shrimp, tortilla chips and mild salsa, and a pile of strawberries. Well, that took care of my late breakfast, but what about the main meal of the day?
Close on to late afternoon, I wheedled my son-in-law to go to Mc Donald's and pick up a fish fix. With fries. Truly, I want to nominate him for sainthood. The two fish sandwiches and fries have done great things for my mental attitude and my mysteriously thinning midsection.
Maybe it was the late evening drama yesterday, when Dink started to colic and we had to rush to the ranch to walk him and get the vet to him ... until about 11:30 pm. So tiring.
Maybe it was going out to see Dink this morning, finding him feisty and fine, and hopping on him for a gentle 45-minute ride ... which I haven't done for what, months? Energy expended = fish sandwich passion.
Or maybe it was because my sister was being transferred today from the hospital to a nursing home, and one of her last utterances when I was back east was a vehement comment about getting a fish sandwich. "A fish sandwich," she said to no one in particular. "And some fudge. Fish, and fudge. Yeah."
I don't do fudge, Jan, but I thought of you with every bite of fish sandwich. You're alive, and some day you'll know how much I miss you.
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