In just a few short months, I’ll be taking that slow, graceful walk down the aisle. In a very 2005 so-it-must-be-drop-waisted dress, with a bouquet of seasonal flowers wrapped with ribbon-dyed-to-match clutched just below my chest. Head slightly lowered, eyes glimmering with a just the faintest of dew, and perhaps a shy, innocent, virginal barely-there smile. It’s the walk that every girl, from the moment she realizes that she is a girl, dreams wistfully about. Every girl, except me.
I've never fantasized it, so thank garsh I just have to sashay down that ridiculous aisle in a tea-length tangerine bridesmaid’s dress! No no no, I’m not getting married, for fox ache. (How dare you wish such evil upon me!) It’s my sister’s wedding. *phew*
And yes, I did say tangerine. Like Tang powdered orange drink, it’s so bad send it into outer space with NASA. Oh of course, I’m sure I’ll wear the dress again. If I ever lose my sanity and start dating a 17 year old boy, I can wear it to his high school Prom! *rolls eyes* And I certainly won’t be sexy sashaying. I’ll be hobbling along in glittery gold strappy stiletto sandals. Oh, bridezilla, the curses you put on us!
So what does this mean? This *ew* event in the next few months?
It means that I must finally use that one four letter word that I just can’t bring myself to type right now. I have no problem with any four letter words, except the one that starts with D, ends with T, and rhymes with “riot.” Diet. *ack!* There, I typed it. *spit*
Even after all the *roll eyes* I do about people who diet, I must now surrender my buffalo stance and make a modification to my lifestyle with a diet *spit*, otherwise, I really will look like a fat little tangerine rolling down the aisle. And that’s assuming I’ll even fit into the dress in the first place.
And ultimately, that very sadly means that Benito and I have to “take a break.” Because somehow over last two months, I have gone stark naked. Oops – that’s my other blog *wink*. I mean stark raving mad and loosened my restriction of Benito’s every-once-in-a-desperate while. I actually let myself eat Benito’s nachos at least once a week, more often it was twice, and holy shiitake mushroom, sometimes even three times. And not even between the acceptably naughty hours of 2 and 5 am. I mean, sometimes, I would actually stop in at *blush* 8 pm for a dinner! I know! Was I crazy?!?! I know Benito isn’t good for me, but everyone knows that girls only like the ones that are bad for them. ;)
But it’s so hard to have to make that decision. Of course in my logical left brain I know Benito is soooo totally beneath me. I mean, come on, he only makes $2.29 for nachos. On a good day, he might make a little more for a burrito. But my emotional right brain and heart is having a hard time letting go of something that’s just become so comfortable. Something I am used to. I almost don’t know anyone else except Benito. And no one knows me like Benito.
Why can’t I let go? Because I think Benito laced those crunchy thick twinkling tortilla chips with something to hook me in the beginning. Damn him for my addiction! I don’t know what it was, but it was some substance that made those chips shine. Sparkle. Glossy with the grease that oozes out of the two types of curly cheeses like the oily activator that drips out of a pimp’s jeri curl onto the collar of his dark dried leather trench. *yummy*
Perhaps it’s the salsa. I always wondered why I didn’t mind that those two salsas are exposed to the open air of 3 a.m. germs, and even when the salsa level gets down to the disgusting dregs and burrito backwash, I still scrape around the bottom of the stainless steel container with that tiny ladle for every last drop to soak my chips and cheese. Liquid burn in, and it definitely a liquid burn out. *ouch* Was that too much information?
Oh well, I can’t write about this anymore. It’s too painful. If I think too much, I might only remember the good, forget the bad, and give in again. I can’t do that.
*tears up photo into tiny shreds and tosses into blog* I just can't.
I’ve got to keep telling myself I don’t need it. I’m better than that. I deserve....tangerine.