Ah, how I love the hour after getting home from the restaurant, as I watch the gauge on my stomach move from Sickeningly Full to Slightly Hungry Again. It's such fun to rip into the take-home box and watch my companion's disgust rise as I scarf down the congealed chicken fat and wilted vegetables.
Actually, I'm getting hungry already.
(I know Stupid Rachel enacted this very scene in a Friends once, but it achieved its resonance only because small-stomached women everywhere had done the same thing millions of times before.)
We just got back from our Birthday Observed Dinner, and I wanted to post to all the world how very much Benji and I would love to have any of you come visit. Many of you came up in our erudite, romantic and illuminating over-the-candles discussion. To learn whether you are one of the many, you must email or call me personally. Off I go to eat half of my birthday cake and (I hope) watch Ashlee add insult to injury atop the failed Simpson name.
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