We went out for dinner after run club as usual last night, and as we were standing in line to order at the counter of the pasta place upon which the crowd had agreed, Rad mentioned that he was in the middle of the "Cabbage Poop Diet," and therefore could only have a salad.
That sucked. I asked when he had started, and he said "Tuesday."
"Doesn't that mean you're on the baked potato with butter day?"
We scanned the menu, but, as it was a pasta place, there were no potatoes. He was a champ to resist my trying to push my gnocchi on him (what? they're potatoey), and never said a word of complaint.
Late last night, he sent this picture.
Which is scarier? That you knew what he was supposed to eat, or the size of that potato?!
Posted by: africankelli | March 05, 2008 at 02:40 PM