So it's Veronica's birthday (Happy Birthday!), and it's Mardi Gras, and I got up too late to make breakfast at home this morning. What does that all mean?
It means 2 plain biscuits from McDonald's for breakfast
1 (big) corner slice of birthday cake--with a rose--after lunch
and pancakes for dinner (in honor of England's tradition of Shrove Tuesday).
Add 'em up and you get one very nasty dietary day. I already feel horrible, and the notion of warm syrup is sending me into anticipatory diabetic shock.
Tonight, however, also represents Alastair's first trip to a restaurant. We're very excited, and probably more than a little bit terrified. Germs, his explosive gas, his wail of discontent, the possibility of disagreeable temperature or lighting conditions, the mere notion of waiting in line, and the fact that I have work to do tonight have tempered my excitement just a bit, but not much. We're goin' places with this boy!
Wish us luck.