It's not the first time food has brought me to tears. I famously cried at the register when I found out Portillo's had discontinued my favorite salad, on my birthday no less. And I made a bit of a scene when forced to leave the building, abandoning a hot bowl of chili, during a fire alarm at a Park City slope-side restaurant (there really was a fire, but to be fair, I really was very hungry). So last night when John texted to say he was bringing me leftover gnocchi in pesto sauce from a work dinner, it's no surprise that I was overly excited. His first words when he walked in the door were "you have to try this restaurant." Oh really, John? I have to try a renowned Italian restaurant, famous for its house-made pasta? Pasta made with wheat? Which I can't have starting in 28 days until pretty much the end of this year???? Thanks so much for the recommendation, jerk! I managed to keep [most] of these thoughts inside my head, focused on the fact that he had generously brought me leftovers. But when I opened the box, a pile of meat was staring back at me. Chicken, meatballs, but no gnocchi. My eyes started to well up. Apparently the restaurant mixed up the boxes and John's coworker's wife was currently at home with a pile of gnocchi while I was stuck with meat, one of the few things I can eat freely once this stupid diet starts. Yeah, there were tears. Because I'm mature like that. Something tells me it won't be the last time...
T-27 days till go time!
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