Forewent† Diet Pepsi at lunch.
When nice little Japanese lady at Tokyo Express said, "So good see you 'gain. Have special treat for special customer,"‡ and handed me a ramekin of candied walnuts,§ I smiled, thanked her and schlepped it back to the office, where I handed it off to Hans. Hans made inordinately appreciative yummy noises.
Joanne pointed out that I had chicken and, as it was Ash Wednesday, I wasn't supposed to be eating meat. I pointed out I'm not actually Catholic.
[SUMMARY: In which I publish my dorkitude.]
Passed up wine at Annie's.
Passed up amaretto/almond cheesecake at Annie's -- the kind that Hector says she didn't make for him until after they were married, but if she had made it while they were dating, he would have proposed to her on the spot. All book club attendees made inordinately appreciative yummy noises.
[SUMMARY: Sainthood is no primrose path.]
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): I started every sentence with "I had to..." then thought the better of it. But "...had to forego" is an easier construct than trying to figure out the past of "forego." It's residual, small-scale martyrdom.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): For the record, the three people in line who ordered while I was waiting for my lunch did NOT get candied walnuts. I really am special.
§FOOTNOTE (swerved): When Tallest, Hairiest Nephew was pretty young and just starting to parrot what we said, I made him a treat from my childhood: pie crust cookies. I used a tiny duck cookie cutter to cut tiny duck shapes out of extra pie crust, then sprinkled them with cinnamon and sugar and baked them. When they were done (and tiny ducks hardly take any time at all to bake), I put them in a ramekin and presented it to him as a ramekin full of ducks. We taught him to say, "ramekin full of ducks." That was one of the best days ever. And it beats all hell out of having to give up a ramekin full of candied walnuts.