Saturday, March 05, 2005

The French Apple Pie Remedy

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Whatshisname took me out to dinner tonight well aware of my mood (which has waned some I admit). We sat at our favorite spot at the Utopian diner and sipped iced teas with Splenda and ordered South Beach approved salads, made small talk, and then a revelation!

Hey”, he said, “Let’s get desserts” I watched his left eyebrow arch, which it does when he’s having a mischievous thought, “You need sugar and white flour, and so do I!”

We wolfed our salads down and hailed the waitress over who regaled us with all the forbidden goodies they had to offer.

Whatshisname settled on a piece of lemon coconut triple layer cake. I asked for a slice of French apple pie, warmed, with a slab of vanilla ice cream.

Then we waited as visions of sugar comas danced through our heads.

What can I tell you? When the forbidden foods came we attacked them with abandon. The pie was beyond wonderful, it was orgasmic. The lemon cake was sublime, how do I know this? I tried a taste, and he returned the favor. Back and forth we went sampling the collective fabulousness of these sensual treats until we realized that we’d eaten every last crumb, ever last drop of ice cream, every shard of coconut, every last vestige of icing…all gone. And then, we started chuckling wondering that if we’d begin licking our plates would that cause a scene.

And that, my friends, was the needed antidote for my afore mentioned case of the cranks. I felt reborn, renewed and beyond hyper – to quote that old movie from the 80’s, “What a Feeling!”

Thank god for the medicinal curing properties of baked goods…and life is good again.





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