Mexico has a wine country. Really. It's pretty massive.
I had no idea.
A thousand times, I thought of you today.
I banished you, yet in you crept again.
Such a stud. A trickster.
You stroke me. You rev me.
You know how to play me.
(Oops. How did THAT get here?)
I think I’m done. Finished. Immune to you.
Who am I kidding?
At least, I won’t have this much of you today.
Imagine. You just ate the weight of a small country. Oh, it took several days. You walked a lot. Climbed a few stairs. Even managed a few minor hills.
But, gelato takes its toll on the waistline. Especially when you decide to conduct a science experiment to determine the best pistachio ice cream in a particular locale.
Have you ever showed your a—, well, your derriere to a friend? No, I don't want to know if you've ever mooned someone. I'm more interested in whether you've put someone at the butt-end of your personality.
Because, Lord knows, I have. I could probably populate a blog with those stories for the rest of my life.
Fear of change brings out the patootie in me. Especially when someone tampers with my food.
MTM and I are foodies. No, that does not mean we are culinary snobs who shun all but premium grub. We like to eat. In fact, we are pigs, and lately, we are partial to a certain kind of pig.
It's a rut.
Part of filling one's creative tank is changing up the food routine. We needed to gnaw on something new.