Mmmmm....calories......

So remember that first date girlish-figure-keeping don't-let-him-know-you-actually-eat-anything-that contains-calories meal I spoke of last?

Yah. Didn't happen. I can't even claim those sweet potato fries, which would have been a "healthier" option.

Fresh cut fries smothered in cheese curds and homemade gravy. That's me.
Do I at least get points for the pomegranate ice-tea? I'm sure the 5% fruit juice in there totally saves me. And the baby spinach on my Angus burger? I'm golden.

I'm a disaster when I eat. It's a miracle when I walk out of a restaurant without something spilled on my clothing. This meal was so intent on making a mess of me, that I was required to remove my jewelry, because heaven knows there would have been tequila-lime BBQ sauce caught in the crevices of my ring.

I couldn't ever to justice to the charm of this place with my amateur photography. You simply have to check it out for yourself. Go this weekend, it's the perfect weather for a stroll on Locke St. Browse some antiques. Stop by Epic Books and pick up some new reading material.  

 And wrap it up by stuffing your face at Chuck's Burger Bar. The walking will burn the calories you're about to revel in. I promise.

First Date

I'm sitting at the kitchen table with a huge bowl of pasta, despite the fact that someone is coming to take me out for dinner in about an hour. Unconciously, the basic girl first-date rule has popped into my head: you eat before being taken on a dinner date, so that you can order something dainty like a salad without feeling absolutely starved by the time the bill arrives. Saves you from looking like an absolute pig when he's around.

I'm also still debating what to wear. Something cute, but that doesn't look like I'm trying too hard to impress. A colour I know he likes, that I can laugh off as being pure coincidence when he says how much he loves it on me.

The funny thing is, I know that none of this is necessary. He's seen me in sweats, no make-up and hair tossed up in a messy ponytail. Knows that I can put back a couple pounds of the sauciest chicken wings in a single sitting, and come back for seconds. Doesn't care if I'm wearing high heels or Chuck Taylors. In fact, he prefers the latter. Has heard me sing off key, yet still lets me play my favourite songs and bop along in the passenger seat.

I think this will be my first first-date without butterfly wings humming inside my stomach, or a jackhammer thumping against my chest.

But perhaps I should consider getting out of my pjs and trying just a little, don't want him to think I'm too comfortable or that I like him that much. Not yet, anyway.