That Vegas, man – he’s a thief. Watch out for him. Consider yourself warned.
This morning around 7am, I had my normal breakfast fare of a bowl of Cheerios with 2% milk, a banana, and my itsy bitsy tiny sanctioned Dr.-approved cup of coffee. Oh, and a plain cake unsanctioned doughnut. Anyhow, it became apparent sometime around 9am that my body was under siege for more fuel. I appeased him with a fruit cup and some cashews. He showed no mercy, and snatched them as soon as I put them down my gullet.
It was fortunate that my wife and I had planned on an early lunch, as I headed out around 11am to pick up some bagel sandwiches, chips, and a lemonade for us to share. Halfway through the walk there, Vegas had started consuming my brain. Well, that’s what it felt like, at least. It could have been the sunshine, the warm temperature, the lengthy walk to the bagel shop, who knows – but by the time I got there, I think I was missing a lobe. I slowly walked back (let’s admit it – I don’t walk anywhere quickly these days), and joined my wife on a park bench in the shade where I devoured my sandwich and we made a game plan together to appease the beast.
So I hit the campus stop-n-shop and picked up a Naked protein drink, a Snickers (so I don’t turn into a diva), and some string cheese to get me through the rest of the day, two-thirds of which were sacrificed to the baby gods before 1pm. For real, kiddo, I’m working on it. Relax.
In other news, I had a dream last night that we were at the beach with a little girl, supposedly Vegas. She was wearing a red sundress and a white hat, and was trying to stand up after sitting and playing in the sand. I reached out my hand to offer a finger as leverage, and she looked at me and said, “Nah, it’s OK. I got it.” Awesome.