This morning I woke feeling distressed. It may just have been because it was so darn hot last night and my mouth was glued together with dehydration and I'd been haunted by repetitive dreams about not being where I need to be at the correct time and I was a little bit hungover. But I think it was really down to the fact that the only thought rushing through my mind was that everybody always forgets about chicken breasts. I felt terrible.
So I decided to declare this Sunday the day of BREAST. It's not really going to be so much different to any other Sunday, other than the extra 'B(ee)' I've tagged onto the ol' day of REST saying. You geddit? I don't.
I've been wondering lately if maybe I should give vegetarianism another go. But then I decided that it's probably okay to eat things like beef and pork, just as long as the meat isn't coming from baby animals, because big animals have had their time, right? They've seen the sunrise, they've felt the rain spatter on their thick skin, they've endured the sting of a wasp on the end of their milk-sweetened teat. Plus I was reading an article about the lambing season and nearly started to cry for all those bleating balls of delight I've eaten in the past. Verdict: I'm giving up lamb.
Other than this, peanut butter is rocking my world once again. Is there really anything finer than sleeping late on the weekend before rolling into the kitchen to indulge in a slice of toast smeared with that crunchy delight? I really do not believe there is.
*exit stage trapdoor*