Yeah, I know today is supposed to be all about wicked excerpts from my super wicked books however this illness has knocked my aforementioned schedule clean out of my head. Mostly because of butter. The brain is made of fat and it runs on glucose so I’m guessing therein lies the problem.
I haven’t eaten since Saturday when I had half a red-hot at the baseball game when I was on the road to getting seriously ill but still trying to pretend I wasn’t on that road too often traveled of late.
So this morning I managed to get out of bed, which was quite a feat in itself, so I could drive to the gas station and fill up the car (on empty), buy tuna (cat’s on empty and I totally forgot to buy the tuna) and pick up more meds at the pharmacy. I arrived home, rather I drove home and shuffled inside because it’s way too hard to actually pick up my feet, and I realized I needed butter in the worst way.
Of course social convention dictates I should eat my butter on something when all I really wanted to do was open a stick of unsalted butter and chow down, thus I made Cylon toast and managed to make it fit beneath the butter. Really I totally just wanted the butter. Wanna see my butter?
Butter and a little toast.
I would have put more on there but the butter was cold and it took too much energy to get it to smash.
Speaking of running on empty… My husband’s a funny guy. We were driving along one time and I noticed the light on his gas gauge had come on, you know, as in he was almost out of gas.
So I says…
I says… “Honey, you’re almost out of gas.”
And he says…
He says… “Oh, don’t worry. When it gets down this low my reserve tank kicks in.”
So I says, blinking a whole lot… “What reserve tank?”
And he says… “You know, my five-gallon reserve tank. Kicks in.”
Now my husband is a really smart man.
So I says… “Honey, this is not an airplane. This is a car. Cars don’t come equipped with reserve tanks. You don’t have a reserve tank.”
And he says… “You sure?”
So I says… “Yeah, I’m sure. When your car says it’s on empty it really means it’s on empty.”
And that’s the truth.
He seriously thought there was a reserve tank? Gotta love that!
Ray, still LMAO. Yes, yes he did.
LOL! Ah, I love your posts woman!
AD xx
Thanks, AD.
You could just melt the butter in the microwave and drink it with a straw. One of those curly straws always made my kids feel better.
I didn’t think of that, Stephanie! See? My brain isn’t working properly.
We had an old VW that actually did have a reserve tank. No gauge, though.
Tim I wonder if that’s where he got the notion, from his old VW Beetle back when we were teenagers. Maybe it did have a reserve tank!
I hope you get to feeling better. You really were craving butter weren’t you.
Yes, Sandra. Yes I was.
Julia, so sorry you’ve been sick. I don’t know if you’re on antibiotics, but if you are, make sure you are taking a good probiotic as antibiotics wipe your whole system clean, taking out the good bacteria with the bad. Hugs. Hope you’re feeling better soon.
Thanks Diana. And yes, missy, I am on a good probiotic. No fever today!
A reserve tank? I keep my bike in the back of my Tahoe. That’s a reserve tank
Get better soon sweetheart.
Good reserve tank, John.
Thanks. Getting better as fast as I can.
LOL you really did want butter.
Well, there is a spare tire, right?
He’s away?
I wonder why a chunk of butter by itself is gross, but that same chunk of butter on toast is tasty mm mmm?
So glad you are on the mend, Julia. As for the gas thing, your GUY actually came up with a better explanation for ignoring the low fuel light than my GUY ever did. Mine has the attitude of, “No machine is the boss of me!” These days, however, if he runs out of gas, he knows better than to call me to rescue him.
Jaye - LOL! I think the notion of a reserve tank is an excellent reason to ignore the old gas gauge!
No, Steph, he’s not away. He would like me to post a disclaimer that he meant if his gas gauge reads empty he means he still has maybe 30 miles in reserve. However he said reserve tank. Besides… it’s cute!
I did want butter, Amber. Like mad.