I May Be Knocked Up

Went and rode for 150-200 miles yesterday. When I got home I was famished, especially since I missed lunch. As I walked through the front door, I had a sudden overwhelming rush - I knew exactly what I wanted. No, lusted after. Sardines, in olive oil, Diet Coke, and Blue Bell Coffee Ice Cream. 

Which is pretty freakin' weird, but the weird part is that it turned out we actually had sardines of any kind, never mind in olive oil. I'll bet in our entire marriage, we've bought less than 6 cans of sardines, and the last one was probably over a year ago, which purchase was still in the dusty back corner of the "canned" shelf. 

But, I'm one of those guys who like to listen when his body speaks about nutrition. Usually it's pretty straightforward, since my body generally evaluates my nutritional needs, then shouts "Hey, fatass, is your fucking throat cut or something? Send non-poisonous items down NOW!"

But I dove into that dusty can of sardines like a starving pelican, washing the salty little buggers down with Diet Coke and, with olive oil still smeared practically back to my ears, fired down a big ol' wad of coffee ice cream. And it was just right.

In Our Next Episode: When the Beneficiary returns home, I explain why my breath, hands, and clothes smell like a Norwegian dock hand moonlighting at Starbucks, why all her canned goods are scattered ankle-deep all over the kitchen, and a chance for you to commiserate at how poorly all that was received. Also, below, a tasty little niblet for those of you not into sardines (is there a joke in there somewhere? Nope, can't quite get there...)