When a normal person receives a telephone call from their doctor's nurse informing them their blood work came back, the news isn't good and the doctor needs to see them as soon as possible, a normal person might panic, especially if they heard the numbers I did regarding just one of the tests.
Rather than watch what I was ingesting last night, I decided I would go out with a bang. I racked my brain on what would be the worst/best place I could go for a last bad/good meal. Sadly I couldn't come up with anything. I longed for baked clams and panelles but knew they could not be found in Roanoke. I thought about lobster tails but remembered the last time I had one at Red Lobster it was the size of a medium shrimp. I already had pizza for lunch -- disappointing not only because of the underbaked dough, but because I thought I was getting fresh mozzarella as I had in the past, but found it was replaced with low grade crap. I dreamed of fresh pasta with homemade vodka sauce but after my last experience at a local restaurant I used to frequent, I knew there was no place for me to find it.
I became more and more depressed realizing there weren't any local restaurants that would fit my bill for my final fling. Staring at me was probably one of the main culprits contributing to my poor blood results, a bottle of wine. A normal person would have put that wine away. I had just received the lovely bottle of Cabernet from a friend earlier that very day. Surely it was a sign that it was meant to be drunk. When it slipped from the tissue paper it was wrapped in onto the hard gravel ground it didn't shatter. Surely it was a sign that it was meant to be drunk. I reached for the corkscrew. I drank it. It was delicious. With each swallow I realized this very well might be the last so I appreciated the warmth of wine as it slithered down my throat. But the problem of dinner remained.
A normal person would have just given up and had a salad or something "healthy." I figure there's going to be enough of that "healthy" crap to bore me the rest of my life so I left the decision to the girl and hubby. Neither could come up with a solution. Well the girl did, but I just didn't want Famous Anthony's as my last bad meal and then the phone rang. It was the pharmacy. My daughter is suffering from another latex reaction (we don't like to suffer alone in this house) and after visiting her doctor today a topical prescription was called in. Our usual pharmacy didn't have it in stock so they found it for us at the Kroger in Lakeside. Divine intervention. IHop is in the same shopping center. A worse cholesterol clogging cusine I couldn't create. So there we went. I had two iced mocha coffees and the chicken Florentine crepes smothered in Hollandaise sauce. It was the perfect last worst meal. When we came home I finished the rest of the wine.
Clearly I'm not a normal person, but I can't be faulted. After all, my ancestors lived/live on the side of an active volcano in Naples. Insanity must be hereditary. I certainly can't be faulted for living life as everyday may be my last. One day it will be -- I guess I'll find out how soon after my doctor's visit. What happens next remains to be seen...