Sometimes…

Sometimes, I forget to eat. Like, not just skip a meal, but miss all of them. But I don’t realize it at all and I feel perfectly fine all day long. And then, at just around the time that I should be thinking about winding down for the night, my stomach starts to yell at me like an angry toddler denied a second juice box. So, I open the fridge and sigh in exasperation.

Because sometimes, I forget to go grocery shopping. I haven’t had my daughter all week. And, at the beginning of the week, I still had leftovers from when she was with me, so I didn’t need to go shopping. And then I was taken out to dinner by my bestie and had leftovers for multiple meals, so I was fine. But, today, I realized my fridge was finally devoid of anything other than some booze, some juice, and chocolate frosting. I didn’t even have oat milk so that I could have a bowl of cereal for dinner (honestly, a favorite dinner meal since I was a kid, but with cow’s milk back then).

Which means, sometimes, I eat like a 6 year old.

This was my dinner. Dino nuggets (baked in the best little counter magic box, sold by Our Place, that every person living alone/with a small family should own), a hefty squeeze of Chick-fil-A sauce, and, umm, adult night night juice. *grins*

And yes, I’m full. I don’t need much on nights like these, just enough to quiet the “angry tummy yelling” before bed. The wine helps, too.

So, sometimes, for dinner, I also choose meh. And am quite content with this ridiculous dinner of mine. And so is my belly.

Sweet dreams, all. Because dreams should never be meh.