In an historic first, I was unable to eat all of the succulent T-bone Father cooked for me tonight. It is possible that I haven't finished dinner before, but for the big foods that are mine alone to eat and that I love -- steak, pho -- I've always polished them off. For those foods, tonight was the first time I had to quit.
I am shocked. The only thing I ate today was the popcorn and pop I had when watching Easy A (quick review: story meandered and was kind of pointless, but I think it was made as a star vehicle for hot and sassy redhead Emma Stone, and seriously y'all, this is a career-defining performance). Those snacks were huge, and in my advanced age I didn't wolf them down before the movie was half over like I did when I was young, but on an empty stomach I thought I could consume that, coffee before dinner, then whatever was in store for dinner (I learned we were eating steak when I called Mother about picking anything up for her at the grocery store just before getting coffee).
I'm a carnivore. I love steak. I know you'll live longer and better if you become a vegetarian, but damn, I'll sacrifice years off my life if I can eat a damn good steak. And like I said, this was awesome. But the aftereffects of the popcorn, all the butter and fat and cholesterol coating my veins and churning in my stomach, all of that caught up to an old fart like me.
I had salad, bread, and broccoli on the side of the steak. No problem before. Big problem now. Maybe if I hadn't gone to the movies today I would've been fine. Regardless, after Mother suggested a couple times that I quit, I offered my plate to her, whereby she stabbed the steak and packed it away.
I feel like less of a man.
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