Spada: So you want to know what I have to drink every night before I go to sleep?
Me: Umm... iced tea? (his aforementioned drink of choice)
Spada: No no no... a milkshake.
Me: Milkshake?! Chocolate or vanilla?
Spada: Well... funny you ask. Usually vanilla, but I got chocolate this last time. It takes me about three days to go through a half gallon.
Me: You're kidding, aren't you?
Spada: No way! Every night... for the last 15 years.
Me: *speechless*
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Yesterday I asked the boy to join me for lunch. He asked where I wanted him to meet me and I said, "Well, are you ok with cheap Mexican?" Enter Huevos Rancheros and Pollo con Queso (emphasis on the queso).
That was round one.
At night we helped a couple friends of ours move into a new spiffy place in the uptown/downtown area. We had done a good bit of up and down the stairs and out to the car and up and down the stairs and - well you get it - before hot pepperoni pizza arrived. Shining in all it's greasy glory. And let me tell you something, it hit the spot.
That was round two.
Round three was my body retaliating this morning. I felt like a fat sack of snacks* on my little ten mile jaunt. Yuckity yuck yuck. But it was really good at the time, right?
*fat sack of snacks is pretty much a trademarked expression from a good friend of mine and therefore, I cannot take credit for its genius of descriptive ability.
Loved it...thanks Mo!
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