Filed under: General Peevery | Tags: annoying, chocolate pecan bourbon pie, drive me up the wall, eating until your clothes don't fit, filet mignon, food, food coma, grating, nervous breakdown, peeve, pet peeves, sarcastic, vent, yahtzee, yahtzee sixes
I’m totally writing to you from a comatose state right now. My fingers are typing, but my brain is not thinking. In fact, I may as well be laying under my desk with my pants undone and a chocolate goatee, moaning quietly while my eyes roll around in my head, with a sign on my door that says, “If you expect me to pick up that print job, you better bring a stretcher.”
We had the annual staff luncheon at work today. The lunch was in a private dining room at a nice seafood restaurant here in the big city. Menu was a “sharing plate” of fried calamari and fried chicken spring rolls, salad, choice of salmon, tilapia or filet mignon, and another “sharing plate” of apple and pecan pie for dessert. This being a seafood restaurant, I, of course, ordered the steak.
My husband has a saying when we are playing Yahtzee! – “Never take the sixes off the board!” Well, I have a saying whenever steak is an option on a menu – “Why the hell would I chose anything but filet mignon?”
It was a great time. Really. Shocking, I know. Have I mentioned I love my new job? The food was just as good as the company and I could see people getting weighed down in their chairs as the meal progressed. By the time they brought out the dessert platter, we all thought we were too full to even eat any. Who the hell were we kidding? Because, folks, that wasn’t just pecan pie on the platter, it was chocolate bourbon pecan pie. I promptly threw my left arm in front of Big Boy to block him and, with my right, gently slid the platter directly in front of me. I got myself a big ole honking piece of the that pie and I wasn’t going to split it with anyone. No way, no how. My idea of sharing is: you can have what I can’t finish.
It was so good that people who didn’t like pecan pie were eating it. Shit, people who were allergic to tree nuts were eating it. Right before trying to roll myself out of my chair, I realized my pants didn’t fit anymore. Literally. I could not breathe. I made the requisite joke about wearing my “fat pants” next time. I said, “You know what they should do? They should totally have those adjustable waist pants like they have for kids, but for adults.” I’m a genius, I know. I’m just a genius a little behind the curve. “They do, I’ve got them on right now,” replied a male co-worker.
The wha-ha? They don’t have those in the women’s section. You have to be kidding me. Not only do these males not have to wear heels, put on make-up, do their hair, or squeeze something out of their body that is 10x the normal circumference of that orifice, but now they get to wear expandable waist pants? Some days, I so want to be a man.
Then, I remember all my cute shoes.
When I got back to the office, 3:00 hit and I headed downstairs to get a coffee. Only, I didn’t really head down stairs, I took the elevator. Because I’m fat. And, I still couldn’t breathe. I got to about floor #2 and it happened. My pants button popped. I literally ate to the point that I was busting out of my pants.
Maybe I don’t need that latte after all.
Or, the shoes.
My new motto? “A good glutton always packs a sewing kit!”
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