Because it really is personal…

…to borrow a phrase from RenEv. ‘Round these parts we call it “having a visit from Aunt Flo” or maybe “that time of the month” accompanied by a roll of the eyes and a bag of cheetoes.

I am, as much as I wish my internal girly bits would simply GO AWAY, profoundly relieved my body decided to function on schedule for once. I was stressing a bit about That Time of the Month (rolling eyes, orange powder on keyboard) coming whilst deep in the throes of medical procedures and recoveries. Actually, my biggest concern was grossing out the surgeon (can you do that?), and having to Deal With It along with the dressings and 10 minutes trips across the room to the loo.
Thankfully (Thank You, God, I appreciate it!), that’s not an issue. It won’t even be an issue during the pre-operative exam, the mysteries of which I cannot grasp just now. And, in fact, if my aging and cantankerous phyz will continue to cooperate, the trauma of the Whole Big Thing might even kick my Moon-Wolf Howling Time off by a week, which would mean I’d be well into recovery and able to tend to myself before it rears it’s red and inconvenient head again. That’d be great.

Oddly enough, I’m not actually craving cheetoes this time. Normally a huge bag of the puffy ones would be the only thing to satisfy, especially if washed down with Coke Zero laced with rum. I know, an appalling combination of flavors, but hormones will do that. I think it’s all the convenience food we’ve been eating lately. I’m really wanting food that is delicious and fresh, and complex. The Tuna Tartar from Blue Moon Cafe’ would go far in making me happy. It’s amazing, I’ve described it before but I am going to again, because it’s so good.

Fresh raw ahi tuna, diced very fine, with diced avocado, all tossed with sesame oil and chopped cilantro and the gentlest squirt of lime juice, and served on fried wonton crackers. It is a fine, fine thing indeed, with a glass of crisp white wine and some good company who (preferably) can’t stand raw tuna so you don’t have to share, unless it’s Sweet Daddio, who loves the stuff as much as I do, so we order 2. That’s what I’m hungry for.

Or maybe, seared scallops, served on a bed of coconut rice with a sprinkle of finely chopped green onions, more white wine, more good company.

A big platter of Pad Thai, rich with sweet soy and fish sauces, plenty of fresh vegetables and a generous sprinkle of chopped peanuts.

Chicken satay and peanut sauce, with sticky rice and gently pickled cucumbers.

Oh baby…I just remembered. Colorado (a local Tex-Mex place) serves chicken stuffed deep fried avocadoes. Yeah, it’s a plate full of fat, really. They take a big avocado and split it in half. Then they pile of cooked shredded chicken (like would go in a chicken taco) on top, and top it with asiago cheese. Then they slap the two halves together as best they can, and dip it in a batter, then deep fry it. The avocado gets really soft, almost melty, and kinda melds with the cheese, which melts to perfection, and all this chicken is in the middle. It’s not really spicy, until you put a spoonful of pico de gallo on top. Mmm. Wouldn’t the nutritional benefits of the chicken, and the good fats in the avocado mitigate the 1/2 pound of cheese and the deep-fried quality? Of course it would, they’d cancel each other out so you’d still have room for fried ice cream later.

We have that Demonic Deep Fryer now. Everytime it finds it’s way onto the counter I protest, by waving around bags of spinach and bottles of fat-free salad dressings. And yet, it’s siren call do lure me today. There’s a bag of okra that requests frying. There’s little dark chocolates that would be battered and fried. Wow, that’s a mentrual woman’s finest hour, isn’t it.

Only, today I’m supposed to call the DMV and make an appointment for #3 to get his drivers license.

Yeah. My 3rd child is ready to get his driver’s license and I’m…not.