Today I want to talk about two things. One is an update on Last Supper Syndrome. The other is a very serious matter that has been weighing heavily on my mind recently. Underwear.
I do not know why, but I have been inordinately preoccupied with the underwear supply I will need as I quickly lose weight after the surgery. I am very worried about this. I know it is silly. I mean, it is simply underwear, but still I cannot stop thinking about it.
I have been the same size for so long, that I have built up quite a stock of panties. I do a regular purge of old ones. But I regularly buy a bunch of panties at a time. Usually several packages of Haines Her Way at one time. I generally have a pretty good stock of 2 months worth on hand so that no matter what the laundry situation may be, I always have clean undies.
Now I am looking down the road a couple of months ahead and there is a very real possibility that I may be throwing out the old and replenishing in rapid succession in smaller and smaller sizes.
I know it seems silly, but the doctor’s office has me making all kinds of preparaations and buying things in advance. Vitamins, food, smaller sizes of clothes.
I have clothes, t-shirt, shorts, pants, blouses, that I can wear down to size 14. After that, I will have to buy some clothes. Vitamins will keep. Most of the food I can buy right before the surgery, but I am buying things like chicken stock and sugar free jello now. But I just don’t know how to prepare for the potential panty problem.
My sister and I had a discussion about this recently. She has lost a little bit of weight herself (like maybe 10 pounds…I know…that skinny b%#ch!) and had to renew her own stock. So, I shared with her my anxiety of buying new and tossing out the old. We had a good chuckle. OK, in truth, she laughed at me. But she also made some suggestions of what I could do with them:
- Use the old ones for cleaning rags.
- Give them to Goodwill.
- Make t-shirts out of them.
- Make a quilt.
- Donate them to a kite making factory.
When I told her these options were unrealistic and btw ewwww, she responded with, “Well, I guess we’ll just have to throw them away and buy new ones, crazy girl.”
If only it were that simple.
Now for the update on Last Supper Syndrome:
Recently, I had this crazy craving for margaritas. I’m not a huge drinker. On occasion, I will have one or two glasses of wine, but it is usually on a special occasion or when I go out to dinner with someone. Mostly though, I’m happy to drink water. I know, I’m boring.
I do not know what brought this current margarita craze, but I just had to have them. I probably saw a movie or TV show where someone was drinking margaritas and I immediately thought, “OMG I have to drink margaritas before my surgery!” Now, I haven’t had margaritas in at least three years. In fact, it has been so long that I do not even know when was the last time I had them.
I contacted a friend of mine and we went out for happy hour last night. There is a Mexican restaurant around the corner that has $3.00 margaritas at happy hour during the week. That was pretty much perfect.
Now, Mexican restaurants are problematic for me. I am allergic to milk, tomatoes, and corn. Harry thought Sally was high maintenance because of the way she ordered food with everything on the side? That’s nothing. I go into a mexican restaurant and everything I order I have to say, “I’ll have the (fill in mexican dish), no tomatoes, no salsa, no pico de gallo, no cheese, no sour cream, flour tortillas not corn, does your guacamole have sour cream or tomatoes in it? And white rice not spanish. Pinto beans on the side no cheese on top. Thanks!”
Finally, my friend says, “She’s allergic to these things, please do not put them on the plate.”
The whole time the waitress is looking at me like I have three heads and I can see her thoughts scroll across her forehead as she thinks, “You realize of course, those are the ingredients in oh EVERYTHING we serve? WTF are you doing at a mexican restaurant if you cannot eat the food here?”
Duh, $3.00 margaritas! And I tip well, so shut up and bring me my plain steak fajitas.
Seriously, though, the waitress was great and we had a good laugh. She brought me just what I wanted and many, many margaritas. Well, 3 actually. And now I’m good for margaritas for a while.
So now it is time for the obligatory cat photo. Tonight I am featuring a cat that belongs to my partner in margarita crime, Andy. Grady is his cat.
I went to high school with Andy. He and my brother were/are friends and so me and Andy were/are friends. We lost touch with Andy after high school when we attended different colleges. Then we were reunited with him via Facebook a couple of years ago. And as fate would have it, Andy and I live around the corner from one another. Literally. We grew up and attended high school in Pittsburgh. Our lives went in different directions, and now Andy and I both live in the same town in Virginia. I know, so strange. I am glad that we are friends again. My brother also lives in VA, but he lives like 25 miles from here.
Thank goodness for Facebook! For all of Facebook’s flaws, I’ve reunited with several friends and this makes me happy.
So, thanks for the margaritas, Andy! Here’s to Grady: