Yep…

I hear you… really. I appreciate the emails. I know I’m flailing in my own little blogosphere. I know I’m choking… daily.

Every stupid deep seated insecurity I’ve ever had in my whole fucking life… is magnified.

Examples? I’ve been on the straight and narrow to a ridiculous degree.

My cigarettes? Gone.

Vodka? Gone.

Boys? Gone.

Pasta? What’s that?

I never met a carbohydrate I didn’t love… and the boys in the kitchen spoil me with tortellini.

The kitchen is under strict orders to hold out on me. No bread, no pasta, no fries. Trying to cut my winter 20 off in February is fucking misery and I’m freezing to death as a result. They all know that I’m living on salmon and salad, and one of them in particular makes it better than any. I caught him before he was off the other day and begged him to make my lunch before he left when I saw that one of the other guys had started it…

J- Crap… will you help him with that? I don’t know what you do, but it’s just better.

A- Ok…

I hear him in the kitchen say “I’m commandeering this salmon”… and look up to see one of the guys walk out pouting, his arms crossed and scowling at me.

C- Is there something wrong with how I cook your salmon?

Shit. Uh…. well….

He goes stomping back into the kitchen and I hear him demand the details from my salmon king… and I nearly choke when I hear him say…

A- You just need to melt butter on both sides, that’s all.

I hear them all start laughing as I walk in with a horrified look on my face.

C- She’s being good, that’s the whole damn reason she’s eating salmon.

J- BUTTER??????

A- Yeah, melt it on both sides and sear it so it’s perfect. She likes it overcooked, 7 lemons, romaine & grilled mushrooms.

They’re in fits of giggles looking at my face.

J- God dammit, are you kidding me? No wonder it’s better.

A- What are you so damn worried about?

J- Everything. Every damn imperfection is magnified when you’re out to impress the man of your dreams.

Now they’re really laughing.

J- It’s not funny, damn it… I’m naming these thighs after you both and blaming you directly- I gave up pasta to look good naked, now you’re fucking with my salmon.

C- Ok… go ahead. Take your clothes off and we’ll tell you what we think.

Fuckers… they’re enjoying every panicked moment I’m swimming in, while sabotaging my diet.

C- You worry too much. Relax. Be yourself. If you’re willing to take the risk, be confident about it….nothing is sexier than that.

He reaches for the butter and I shake my head NO at him… He shakes his head yes and smacks me on the ass as I stomp out of the kitchen.

I walk back in and hear him laughing so hard he can barely say my name.

C- Ohhhhh Princess… your boring ass lunch is ready!!!!!

There on the plate with my mundane pile of lettuce, mushrooms and salmon…. is the pesto tortellini I love.

C- You’re beautiful- eat the damn tortellini and quit freaking out.

I’m surrounded by a bunch of comedic saboteurs who are delighting in my uncharacteristic abject terror.

C- How many days?

J- Fuck off, all of you.

They’re bent over, howling with laughter and immune to my frustrated glare as I stomp out with my salad.

Guy friends are priceless when it comes to teasing you out of your own girlie insecurities, because as I sat down to eat my lunch, he came walking out grinning, with a basket of fries…. barely able to contain himself…

C- Here… have some fries with that shake. Ha ha ha….

Can’t a girl panic a little?

Nope.

Not when you’re truly loved by the best of them. ♥