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Torture for Dinner
Being so good has never hurt this bad
Standing next to the warm stove, I was eating a Rice Krispie treat that had been cooked with hashish butter — a profoundly delicious and rewarding treat, indeed. My fiancée had poured herself a glass of wine. It was the end of an unremarkable long, hard day full of work and child-care struggles. And the bout of relaxation before dinner felt simply fine. That's when she told me how much the halibut cost. Sixteen bucks. I nearly hacked up a hunk of my precious snack.
Here's the problem: We both aspire to being healthy and responsible, so we'd been through scenes like this through the spring, with my girl sticking torture-free eggs and hormone-free, vegetarian-fed beef into our shopping carts. Great, I‘d think while running my debit card through for unprecedented hits. It's bad enough that I gotta make sure to ingest the right variety and proportion of food. Now I can only eat the guys who've been coddled all their lives? Later for that. Make my protein mildly harassed, at least.
The fish, which she had prepared with a garlic-yogurt sauce, smelled amazing. But I am the proverbial broke-ass writer. I've come a long way, just to be having such grace available at the end of a run-of-the-mill crappy day. However, I don't need to eat this well.
What we put in our bodies can come to define us. Would Roger Clemens be in such trouble if he was more circumspect about all he took in? That's a chicken-and-tortured-egg question, as he might not have achieved such enormous culture stature without performance enhancing drugs. We've got to ask ourselves these questions if we want to get to the essence of our expectations and disappointments.
Here's the problem: We both aspire to being healthy and responsible, so we'd been through scenes like this through the spring, with my girl sticking torture-free eggs and hormone-free, vegetarian-fed beef into our shopping carts. Great, I‘d think while running my debit card through for unprecedented hits. It's bad enough that I gotta make sure to ingest the right variety and proportion of food. Now I can only eat the guys who've been coddled all their lives? Later for that. Make my protein mildly harassed, at least.
The fish, which she had prepared with a garlic-yogurt sauce, smelled amazing. But I am the proverbial broke-ass writer. I've come a long way, just to be having such grace available at the end of a run-of-the-mill crappy day. However, I don't need to eat this well.
What we put in our bodies can come to define us. Would Roger Clemens be in such trouble if he was more circumspect about all he took in? That's a chicken-and-tortured-egg question, as he might not have achieved such enormous culture stature without performance enhancing drugs. We've got to ask ourselves these questions if we want to get to the essence of our expectations and disappointments.
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