JUST SHOOT ME…

Or the diary of bad eater.

It was Sunday morning, the diner was not too empty, just enough for me to enjoy myself. I scouted around looking for rug rats, and no one. The day promised to be a good one! For one thing, I would not be watching the Mets, and two, TLW (The Little Woman) and I would be going away for a short little vacation to Port Jefferson to stay overnight to celebrate our 40th anniversary a week early.

I ordered breakfast, a mozzarella omelet with French fries. Although I didn’t plan to kill myself, I thought this is a good way. After eating, everything started to settle half way down my chest, like it was nailed into my heart, as a discomfort swept through my chest, that burning sensation of heartburn, I could have been the heartbreak of psoriasis. I thought: thank goodness I won’t eat again until later this evening at the Danford Inn.



Upon arriving at the hotel, we went to check in and found out that in spite of an email confirmation from the place, and the fact that TLW forget to bring the confirmation number, they could not find our name in their system. Being the nice guy that I am I was patient, thinking how we could possibly not be in their system, being we made the reservation way back in March, and here it was June!

The young clerk behind the desk tried different spellings of my name, TLW’s name, even his own name, and nothing. Then I suggested that since we knew the confirmation number had come recently in a email, maybe there was a computer about that TLW could go on to retrieve it. Suddenly the young clerk’s face lit up, and he escorted us to his office where TLW went into her email and retrieved the number. Happily, the boss set up the room and announced that we would be upgraded to a room with a private balcony!


As we arrived, champagne awaited us chilled, and two stem-wear glasses to help us chill. We went to an off Broadway production of the Drowsy Chaperone, and returned to our rooms where we sat out on the balcony and drank our champagne, and went off to dinner.

Having figured there was enough time since the last meal at breakfast, and the fact that it was after 6:30 pm, I decided to have some fried calamari with hot peppers, throw in some lobster bisque, followed by mussels and shrimp in a broth with a pasta. Although I didn’t plan to kill myself, I thought this is a good way, then realized that it was déjà vu all over again, but redundantly!

Speaking of which, after the cheesecake, it was indeed time to die. Oh, how I wished to die, swearing off food until the next millennium, I stumbled through the rest of the evening, falling asleep on the bed awakening and tossing and turning, the heart-burn keeping me awake. Soon dawn broke, but alas, I was not dead, and willed myself to the shower. Dressing TLW and I had our coffee and headed to the great outdoors to walk around before breakfast. Did I really have to eat breakfast? Did I not want to die? Shouldn’t I kill myself somehow, so as not to eat eggs with ketchup and sausage, pancakes with butter and all along praying I would die?

As we sit, TLW says: “I think the fruit and a little toast is good enough after that dinner last night, don’t you?”

“Actually, I was hoping for something light or maybe death!”