A Princess Needs a Chauffeur

Overeating is always a good time. Overeating when there are holly cookies involved is a doubly good time, because they are pure marshmallow-y green goodness. And so, for the past week, I have been stuffing myself fully of all sorts of good food, including several rounds of steak and holly cookies. Sometimes, not in that order. Holly cookies are great because… your body doesn’t process copious amounts of green food coloring so well. So. Ah. When you consume about a tablespoon of the stuff a day, let’s just say that it adds a whole new element to visiting the little girls room.

Si-i-i-i-ck.

Why did I share that?

So this morning I felt ill and lumpy, and decided I should take a walk. The Funasaurus and I occasionally walk to Einstein’s Bagels on the weekends, which is about three miles away, so I decided that would be a good idea to do, while I am still on vacation. (New job starts next Tuesday, and it’s in publishing, so plbthbthbthbth I am SO not serving fries with that!) Of course, when The Funasaurus and I go, there is usually not two feet of snow covering everything.

I thought I was prepared… I put on warm socks, snow boots, my fleece, and my ski jacket. But about halfway there, my foot felt funny. It was an odd sensation, one that I haven’t really felt since I was a kid. My sock was all scrunched down in my boot. I forget what a pain in the ass cold weather apparel can be. So I took off my gloves, bent down, and after fishing around a lot, finally bothered to unzip my boot to get to my damn sock. I pulled it up and felt the familiar rub of a blister starting to form.

Auugghhhh!

Where is a chauffeur when you need one? Seeing as how I was already halfway there, though, I pushed on. (After adjusting my other sock in my other boot and also discovering another blister, there.)

I limped into Einstein’s about twenty minutes later, and two more stops to pull up my apparently-elastic-less socks.

I got my bagel, and removed my boots, and ignore the glares from the people across the room who apparently caught a whiff of my foot stench.

I then debated calling a cab, as I sat there feeling very sorry for myself. But then I remembered, oh, haha, that’s right, I don’t have a job or an income, so perhaps a cab is a bit of a frivolous way to spend my remaining dollars.

So I limped home. But I stopped by the liquor store on the way, and spent my remaining dollars there, instead. A much better use of my money, I must say. Not only did I arrive home in less pain, but I am having a helluv a Wednesday afternoon! Wheee!

And THIS is the most incredible stuff. (And dear God, if you click on the link, be sure to turn on your speakers. Any alcoholic-y drink that tells me I don't look a day over 21 and plays sweet, sweet music is awesome.) Especially when mixed with champagne. Shout out to Shooting Star, who found my new favoritest drink, ever. Mwah.