I decided that taking up drinking at my age would be a foolish response to my current mini-breakdown. I'd still be devastated, with added drunkenness, weeping, and vomiting.
I was planning instead to dive headfirst into a vat of chocolate peanut buttery frozen goodness and eat my way out, but turned the car around on our way to the ice cream shop. I knew my heart would be all kinds of fluttery with the introduction of that much sugar that quickly, cause honey, I was going to inhale that ice cream.
So what rebellious act did I choose as my big "SCREW YOU" to this hellacious day?
I got french fries with my blackened chicken at dinner tonight, instead of my traditional baked potato with a dab of butter on the side. And I washed it down with actual SPRITE, instead of the healthful water with lemon.
That's right people.
I threw caution to the wind.
I lived dangerously.
I ate every bite of those fries.
I didn't count one single calorie. SCREW YOU TOO WEIGHT WATCHERS, while we're at it.
And you know what?
I'm still heartbroken - now with added reflux.
Dammit.
