The juicer arrived today. The UPS man dropped it on the step. I’m a little intimidated. It’s for week 2 of my cleanse, where I’ll only be allowed one solid meal (lunch) and two liquid ones. Liquid dinner will be things like kale-and-apple smoothie. Not sure this is going to fly.
I’m really not missing the caffeine. As expected, it’s the sugar and bread group I’m craving. Our dinners this week are fine – last night was lamb chops, the night before salmon, and the ubiquitous chicken tonight. No cows on the cleanse. I made a big pot of lentils and spinach that lasted several nights and looked exactly like the remnants of the moss that was power-washed off my roof by a condescending man with a beard yesterday. I’d say it tasted better, but I didn’t actually taste the moss, so it’s 50/50. I made the kids a side dish orzo with butter and parmesan (they are sick of lentils) and I almost ripped the spoon out of their little hands. Why did I never appreciate noodles before? O butter and cheese, I worship thee.
Also, I’ve had it with these damn Girl Scouts. It’s bad enough a hundred of the little green-sashed fiends hit me up for orders. Now I have to run the gauntlet of their sad little faces every time I go to the grocery store. They block every exit like they are protesting health and wellness. Their mothers stand behind them, glaring accusingly as I duck in for more quinoa and kale. Look, ladies, you’re the ones pimping out your girls as cookie whores. Do you think I want to pass up a box of Thin Mints? Shouldn’t there be a mandatory corridor through, like there is at abortion clinics? This is just cruel. I can’t be held responsible for my actions if you’re waving Samoas at me.
How will I make it through juice week?