When I got home from work this afternoon, I had a slight ranch dressing crisis. Before I even set down my bag of work-related items (apron, pens, etc.), I started stuffing my face with ranch dressing-covered junk food. After devouring one chicken wing doused with the stuff, I went on a rampage throughout the house locating all possible food items to dip and consume. I coated the following items in ranch dressing: American cheese, provolone cheese, Cool Ranch Doritos, Kashi crackers, buffalo wings, pretzel sticks, and croutons. I think anyone present can attest to the fact that I was on some kind of freak binge. After all that salty food, I ate a few Oreos with a big glass of milk, drank a Miller Lite and moseyed on next door for some steak, chocolate cake, another beer, and a few puffs of my uncle’s Cuban cigar. After this I went running.
I must have had some sort of fat panic attack because most people lay on the couch and take a nap after overindulging the way I did this evening. But, I opted for a twilight run accompanied by my cousin Franky and my Navy cadence CD. After a mile and a half of running, laughing, and singing, I thought I was going to puke. Tomorrow, I am only eating pineapples and water and doing at least 100 sit-ups and 20-something push-ups. Good lord.
Sammy: “Look at my tumbleweed!”
Me: “You copycat. Loser.”
Sammy: “What? My dad got it for me today.”
Me: “What’s its name?”
Me: “Your tumbleweed. Does it have a name?”
Me: “Whatever. Mine’s better.”
Kristin: “Lisa’s right. Her tumbleweed takes the cake.”
Me: “Damn straight.”