Worse than hanging = Celine Dion in concert, right?
There’s a level of eating that somehow joins two points: one is the pure enjoyment of the food itself, and the other is the contentedness of having your fill.
Then there’s the level I’m at. Which is the misery of overindulging.
Translation: I. Am. So. Full. And that’s with leftovers.
Happy Birthday, Erin. Next year, how about some oatmeal?
