I’m Glad I’m a Carnivore

Saturday night, my husband and I had a cultural date with another couple.  A night at the philharmonic symphony.  Lots of violins.  Lots of cellos.  Even one lonely tuba.

Somehow, we just couldn’t conceive going to the symphony without first going out to supper.  Of course.  Isn’t that what our culture is geared around: eating, eating, and more eating.  I like that.

We went to a local steak house.  We were there at 5:00 p.m. — and there was a line!  I was surprised.  Like, why are there so many people at such an early time??  Go home, I wanted to yell.  But I didn’t.  I knew my husband wouldn’t be happy if I did.  He’s like that.

So we waited.

I’m glad we did.

To die for prime rib.  (I guess some poor cow did die for it . . .)  Succulent spices, tender, juicy, slow-roasted.  Makes me glad I’m a carnivore.

We ordered the dessert sampler: chocolate thunder from down under (clever name!), nutter butter peanut butter pie (another clever name), and classic cheesecake (not so clever name).

Yummy, delicious, heavenly, scrumptious, gratifying, savory, delectable and a host of others appropriate words in Roget’s Thesaurus that mean the same thing.

But, let’s not talk about the weight I gained from this eating extravaganza.  I’m as big as the bovine that I ate.  My husband had to rent a crane to get me out of the restaurant booth.  Do you know how expensive those babies are?

My brain had a battle with my bulge.

Brain: You shouldn’t have eaten so much.  Just look at all the weight you’ve gained.

Bulge: But it tasted sooooooo good!  It was far better than the dried crust of bread and tepid water that you fix all of the time.

Brain:  But it isn’t healthy, now, is it?  Do you want to get overweight and have a plethora of health problems associated with obesity?

Bulge:  Na, na, na, na — I’m not listening to you.  I don’t care.

Brain:  You don’t care right now while I’m swaddled in this caloric stupor.  Just wait until the light of morning when you step on your scales. You’ll be mad.  You’ll hate yourself for this indulgence.

Bulge: Leave me alone.  I’m enjoying this satiated euphoria.

- – - – - – -

My brain shut up like it always does.

But the morning after, my brain was right.