Here's something you might be interested in.
Not sausage, not loin steak, but a big meaty burger with grilled onions and dripping American cheese. What my uterus wants is not in alignment with my personal goals.
I ordered pizza on Tuesday, that was me. I always want pizza. I made the mistake of adding meatballs instead of the normal cheese with garlic. Now my uterus, being the bloodthirsty organ that is, is not satisfied with the greens and chicken I have stewing in the crock-pot. It has implanted a desire in my mind, and I am struggling for the power to resist.
I strike a compromise. I get on the mobility scooter, and I head to Vons on University. I will get some hamburger, I will season it, steam it, crisp it in the oven, thereby rendering out all but 10 percent fat content. Instead of a bun, I will purchase a loaf of sprouted grain bread. I already have sweet onions which I will steam and grill with the meat. I go to the cheese isle -- there are no good 2 percent cheeses on sale. I compromise once again. This time the uterus is in control. I purchase five slices of white American.
I am nervous; I never go to the deli counter.
My uterus whispers, "It will melt so good and make the burger everything you need to satisfy your bloodthirsty uterus."
I scamper back home. Imagining the taste of the beef fat, the melting cheese, the toasted bread, the sweet onions. I have not cooked this meal yet, however I am now going outside to have my second cigarette of the day.
Not sausage, not loin steak, but a big meaty burger with grilled onions and dripping American cheese. What my uterus wants is not in alignment with my personal goals.
I ordered pizza on Tuesday, that was me. I always want pizza. I made the mistake of adding meatballs instead of the normal cheese with garlic. Now my uterus, being the bloodthirsty organ that is, is not satisfied with the greens and chicken I have stewing in the crock-pot. It has implanted a desire in my mind, and I am struggling for the power to resist.
I strike a compromise. I get on the mobility scooter, and I head to Vons on University. I will get some hamburger, I will season it, steam it, crisp it in the oven, thereby rendering out all but 10 percent fat content. Instead of a bun, I will purchase a loaf of sprouted grain bread. I already have sweet onions which I will steam and grill with the meat. I go to the cheese isle -- there are no good 2 percent cheeses on sale. I compromise once again. This time the uterus is in control. I purchase five slices of white American.
I am nervous; I never go to the deli counter.
My uterus whispers, "It will melt so good and make the burger everything you need to satisfy your bloodthirsty uterus."
I scamper back home. Imagining the taste of the beef fat, the melting cheese, the toasted bread, the sweet onions. I have not cooked this meal yet, however I am now going outside to have my second cigarette of the day.