Thursday, July 22, 2010

half a can of refried beans does NOT equal dinner

Came home from work this evening, hungry as Lindsay Lohan for Red Bull. Oh, it's not a pretty thing when I get that way, for in the blink of an eye you can be sure I'll concoct something along the lines of a bread heel and pickle samlich (with mayo) and wolf it down in two bites, just to be civil. There's a certain glint in my eye, I think, that when I was younger would warn my folks to throw a slab of meat my direction so I'd stop being Miss Cranky McPanterson and commence to being the little ray of sunshine I am when well fed.

Come to think of it, our whole family is like that. Hunger = silence, with a hint of testiness. How divine.

Anyhow. This afternoon, there was about no time to say hey to Biff as I was coming and he was going, then I got involved in vacuuming and feeding the pets, so some time went past during which I was going to wash the dishes when a voice from on high said "NO. Thou must eat something or thou might just fall down go boom, hitting thine head on that there counter, splitting it wide as the Red Sea, which would then gusheth forth, which is no way to go through life."

And I said 'OK' then went to the fridge to see what there is to see. Or eat. YOU KNOW.

Which is why I was eating cold store-brand refried beans from the can about an hour ago. And lo, they were tasty. Totally worth the 120 calories in flavah and belly-fillin' action.

Now I loves me some beans, but sometimes enough is enough, because dang y'all - that's 3 days in a row that beans have featured prominently on the menu. I'm pretty sure my intestines wonder if I hate them or love them enough to give them extra fiber-related responsibility. For sure at least one coworker thinks I'm harboring a badger under my blouse, for the questioning eyebrows of corporate civility were in full play earlier this afternoon.

Eh. Let 'em think I'm going to lose control at any moment. It does tend to lend an air of excitement to an otherwise boring training session. And even though I have sphincters of steel (TMI?) there's just no working that into a conversation as a way to alleviate gastrointestinally -related fears, ya know?

'Ah, Distressed coworker, I see you glancing with concern at my abdomen. Fear not, for even though immense pressure is building, you have it good authority that I can, and have, held back near cataclysms of effluent. Years of practice, don't you know. Ah ha. Now, be a good fellow and go get me a cup of coffee. I do believe I'll test the system stress this afternoon. Jolly good!'

I don't see it working out well, for anyone.


I have been known to make a meal out of a can of green beans and not much else. Of course, that was in my skinny-as-a-rail days, and also my poor-as-a-church-mouse days, so you do that math. Meat was expensive. Dented cans of generic beans were not. Mixed with an egg and some bread crumbs, and sometimes even cooked afterwards, those beans saved my bellybutton from shaking hands with my spine.

So to see me eating cold refrieds isn't much of a stretch, I suppose. The stretch might just be if I stopped to cook them first.

What are your secret odd foods to eat, usually while NOBODY ELSE is watching? DO tell, and then have a lovely evening. Tiff out.

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