tavie.com

I'm trying an experiment by counting calories instead of carbs.

When I counted carbs, I was rarely very hungry. Counting calories = ME HUNGRY ALL THE TIME.

Ummm. So I guess that's a good thing, or something.

Really, it's because I really want to eat fruit and I can eat a helluva lot more nectarines when counting cals than counting carbs. Mmmm, grapes. Graaaaaaapes.

Anyway, soon I'll be rich and famous and my personal chef will hand me all my food on a platter, perfectly portioned and in a timely manner. "Your meal, Madam," he'll say.

"I'm not a madam, I'm a concierge," I'll say.

"Very good, Madam," he'll say, before melting away silently to draw my bath. (My personal chef will also be a butler. He'll have an English accent and a white moustache. And spats.)

(And my bathtub will be huge, sunken, under a stained-glass skylight, with jacuzzi jets.)

(Also I'll live in Disney World and have a pet elephant named Buster Brown.)

Mmmm, nectarines.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 10:08 PM | shower me with attention