Stomach Held Hostage: Day 3

Stomach Held Hostage: Day 3

I never realized that tacos smelled so good. They really do. And not just the meat either, the tortillas. There is a warmth to the smell of a fresh tortilla that is wonderful to any given nose on the street, but is downright devastating to someone who just learned why mankind learned to husk psyllium. Also, I just went into my co-worker's office to smell his jar of peanut butter. He took a hit off of it also because he's in the midst of SuperLent - Greek Orthodox Holy Week. Yes, we are so desperate that we were huffing Skippy.

Besides the taquerias along Western, there are other incidental tortures that I am encountering. Improv Power Couple Shalene graciously repaid me for shooting up Oscar, their diabetic cat, by leaving me an basket filled with chocolate and the entire Easter line of Peeps. I can fend off the Peeps pretty well, but those Reeses' peanut butter eggs, oh man. Then there were my pals going to the Horseshoe for Easter Brunch. BBQ plus roller derby girls on a Sunday morning. Can I blame them? Oh yeah, and the Chicago Reader had it's food issue this week. All those lovely pictures of luxuriant, savory, over-priced, snobby delicacies.

But I kvetch not because this is complete torture, but because I have little willpower. But thanks for listening. Who knows what I should do with a dandelion green?