It was a picnic night. That means a night when we are allowed to not eat at the dining room table and actually bring food upstairs; the occasion: LOST. This is the only television show I watch, so dinner was prepared and we were setting up everything for our picnic.
Then he came up the stairs with our lovely bowls of rigatoni with homemade hummus and tomato sauce. And then I saw it, the light sprinkling of fresh Parmesan on the hill of pasta (no longer a mountain! thanks to Sparkpeople).
You have to understand that a little would be fine, but I know myself. I know that I am still weak. The flavor would soon send me downstairs searching for more, searching for the grainy wedge and then all would be abandoned. Not only would that put me over my daily nutritional allocations and spiraling into self loathing despair, I might miss a few minutes of LOST during the search!!
The index finger came out, and I had a determined look in my eye as I pointed down the stairwell "NO. You put cheese on mine. I CANNOT have cheese. NO CHEESE FOR ME."
He was so nice about it. Downstairs he went and a few minutes later my bowl of pasta arrived sans fromage, sin queso, senza formaggio.
No cheese for me...at least not for a while.
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