Last night I had an opportunity to go to a swanky sushi restaurant in town and eat on someone else's tab. The menu had items involving fake alligator (eels! They were substituting eels for aligators! why?), all sorts of different roe and caviar, truffles, and spectacular suishi and sashimi goodness. We ate lots and lots and lots of sushi. Plate after expensive elegant plate came to our table, and by the end of the evening, I felt like I was about 6 months pregnant again. But it had been so long since I went to a sophisticated city restaurant for dinner. I can't even remember the last time. Gah!
And when I got home, to the husband watching "The Colbert Report" and the baby in her crib sleeping happily on her face, feet tucked beneath her knees and butt in the air, I endured the slow progress of all that seafood and rice moving through my digestive tract. The tummy gurgled and roiled. The intestines expressed their displeasure. More than once I considered emergency upchucking (which is what usually happens to me after a lovely rich expensive dinner - never on purpose, but I don't think my guts can handle a foodie-style feast. I think the relatively low fat sushi saved me from a similar fate last night). By this morning, I never wanted to eat anything ever again.
Well, some pear white tea and a bit of cereal has made me feel better. I did run yesterday, but today I'm definitely going for some DDR or something to burn off 1/10th of the sushi extravaganza last night. My goodness.
