How my trip to the pub was ruined by the British government
We're usually not organised.
My husband and I.
When it comes to our anniversary (12 years today), we usually forget to book anything, let alone get a babysitter in advance.
So for dinner tonight, we just decided to take our whole brood to the pub up the street.
We were starving.
Pub food isn't my usual thing, even thought I love a good burger, and it's been a while since I had a humongous meal with fries and lots of comfort food.
Plus, I've been training like crazy, lifting more weights, and my trainer told me I have to eat more to increase my muscle growth and recovery.
Win for me!
Anyway, my husband went up to the bar to order our food.
We scarfed down our food.
(I'm still amazed, and will always be amazed, at how much food my kids can put down, especially my son, and be super lean. I mean, where does it all go?)
We all finished, and then I was in the mood for dessert.
(Right? What girl doesn't want to at least look at the dessert menu?)
Millionaire's ice cream sundae.
Oh My God.
(Cue in shock horror music)
Then, in italics it says,
I kept reading down the list.
Brownie hot fudge sundae:
Are. You. Freaking. Kidding. Me?
Caramel Toffee Pudding:
I look at my husband with a really pissed off stare.
He looks at me like he's done something wrong.
I blurt out, "One thousand calories? Really? Why the hell are they telling us?"
He answers in relief thankful that it's not his fault this time,
"Oh yeah, blame the British government. It's sort of becoming the law."
Oh, for feck's sake.
Let's order three.
Yes, I ate my share.
Live and let live.
Life's too short.
Oh yes. It was goooooood.
Happy Anniversary to us!
Have a great long weekend.
— Dr MaryAnne