Comfort Food

Weight Watchers can just kiss my grits. (I heard the definition of the acronym G.R.I.T.S. the other day: Girls Raised in the South. That's me, Darlin'.) Anyway, I've been in crisis mode the past couple of days and I'm enjoying every morsel I'm eating. Ordered pizza for the movers yesterday and had a slice. Went out to dinner with Frank on Thursday night and had a chicken and wild mushroom enchilada and creme brulee at this great new restaurant, Rio Cafe, on Grant, where Nonie used to be. Last night took the babies to McDonald's in Wal-Mart while Ty and Jaci were stocking up for the trip and I ate all Boston's French fries. (Oh, stop yelling at me. He doesn't like French fries.) Last night Mr. Match called while I was driving home and said he was coming over with coffee and Dunkin' Donuts. He felt I needed comfort food. (And that's so odd coming from him, as he is usually Mr. Martini. For him to come over bearing donuts instead of lemons is really out of the ordinarly.) Donuts at 9:30 at night — pretty decadent. This morning I ate the last half of a muffin from last night, then went to Tubac where I had a chicken salad sandwich and barbeque potatoes chips. Yum. I'm going to a 60th birthday party for my girlfriend tonight, and I'm going to throw caution to the wind. I'm sure I've regained all eight pounds I lost, and too bad. I'll start on Wednesday to take it off again, but I needed this.

The babes are gone and my heart has gone with them, but I'm okay for the time being.

Oh, the funny note from last night's visit from Mr. Match is that he referred to me as "Friend" three times! As in, "How are you doing, Friend?" "Nice to see you, Friend." I do believe the boy is trying to make a point: I'm here to support you, but I don't have any interest in a relationship with you. Ho hum.

I'm okay. Really. But please don't ask me how I am — that's where it gets dicey.

When I tell people I'm thinking of moving back East, and that the only thing I have in Tucson are some good friends, I don't give enough credence to my friends. Three of the four men from 2006 have been calling and e-mailing and double-checking to make sure I'm okay. And numerous girlfriends are calling and e-mailing. I will tell you quite confidently that none of my Washington friends have called or written to check on me. (And I am in frequent contact with them, so that's not the issue.) With the exception of four girlfriends of 30+ years' duration, the friends I have in Tucson are way above and beyond any friends in my entire life in quantity and quality.

I'm okay. Really.