You may have noticed a sudden drop in postings, and some perhaps even enjoyed a shiver of superiority in light of my recent halt in production. I’m pleased to announce, albeit questionably early, that someone is literally in my oven. The bad news is that I can’t find a doctor to induce a six-month coma, and the all-day morning sickness has rendered me unable to tolerate most food, save for Nabisco Nilla Wafers, tea, cantaloupe and American cheese. I’m delighted in spite of my state, and hope to have this unpleasantness cleared up by month four, as was the case when Billy the Kid was cooking. I thought I may have turned a corner the other night, as I walked out of Burton’s Grill in an upright position after finishing all my wild mushroom ravioli and sherry cream sauce, but the burn of the great belch had me on the floor within an hour.
Having bid an eight-month adieu to Diet Coke and coffee a few weeks ago, I’m temporarily out of gems, and I don’t plan on converting this into a womb-centric area. As I seem to be pretty much good for nothing these days, I’m super pleased to introduce our new vegetarian correspondent — and she’s been given posting privileges! I met Mrs. D in the class I’m taking at UMASS, and aside from being chipper, fun and stylish, she’s a former English major, and an excellent writer. She also has a laudable approach to nutrition; she tries to be as healthy as she can without being weird. That’s a stance I can get behind. Welcome, Mrs. D!
I had planned to address the magnificence of the Cadbury mini-egg in this post, but I’m quickly succumbing to the paralyzing heartburn brought on by my toast. Pregnancy: a terrible design, brought to you by the creators of tonsils and pinky toes.