At my friend's workshop I worked on valentines. I thought I could take them up when I visit my granddaughter, and we could embellish them together. She has plans for me - she has already warned me. Not quite three, she is the ruler of all she surveys. I am but her humble subject.
We had a nice dinner last night at one of those places where small plates means a plate the size of a saucer with only one quarter of it covered in anything edible. So for six people, we would need slightly under fifty plates to feel full, and it would take all night to be served. Let's face it, these places are for people who have so many cocktails they don't notice that they haven't actually eaten. Our younger son was starved, and probably swung by McDonalds on his way to our daughter's apartment for the birthday cake. Needless to say, everyone had a large helping, even I, who was actually full enough, but tense from the restraint of not ordering twenty two small plates for myself. I do NOT eat sugar, but somehow, intending to have only one bite, I ATE THE WHOLE PIECE. Oh, dear.
I need to purge myself, no doubt, but instead, I had pineapple and blueberries, tea and shredded oats with milk and banana. Somehow, there is a renewed fear of starvation triggered by last night's dinner. In the movie "The Way Back" the escaping prisoners came upon wolves eat some poor beast, and they drove the wolves off to take their place. It was that kind of vibe that gripped me and I must now calm down. In real life, I am a chubby lady with no experience of lack of food, and I have never been deprived in my life. Well, except for these small plate restaurants, which are fine in Spain, because, after all, you're in Spain, but inappropriate in the land of biggie sized and triple quarter pounders.
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