2001-05-05 - 1:07 a.m.
For dinner on Thursday, neither the BYM nor I were feeling particularly lively, so I opened a carton of mac-n-cheese and boiled a package of edamame. Tonight, I was feeling more energetic, so I heated a can of corn, dressed boiled spinach with balsamic vinegar, and baked a loaf of honey-oatmeal bread in the machine, all to go with our plates of spaghetti.
We also opened a bottle of 1998 Bouchaine Pinot Noir. It wasn't horrible, but we should have left it in the rack for a couple more years. The BYM kept commenting it was a funny colour, both in the glass and in the bottle, and then he finally looked at the label: "Oh, it contains sulfites. That explains it." Mechaieh: "Don't make me put a fork through your hand."
For dessert, I assembled fruit tarts: I baked the shortbread crust recipe from The Joy of Cooking, filled it with a custard made out of Bailey's, cornstarch and sugar (adapted from a vanilla pudding recipe in I Knew You Were Coming So I Baked A Cake), and topped it with blackberries.
Remember my glee over maxi-pads in non-pastel wrappings? My rejoicing was premature - the pads turned out to be the most uncomfortable I've worn since swearing off generics and store brands. They may well be perfect for women of standard curvature (if there is such a thing [snort]), but they stuck and clung to me in the wrong spots.
I wasn't aware that reusable pads were commercially available until just now, when I started browsing Sister Zeus's pages on fertility awareness ("awareness" including contraception, in this instance). Frankly, I'm not sure I have the self-discipline to engage or stick with a cloth-pad regimen - after all, I'm the type who wears dresses to work and church because they happen to be the only clean things left in the closet. (Okay, I also wear dresses because they fit me far better than pants, but that's a rant for another midnight. And don't even get me started on shoes right now...) Nevertheless, the concept is definitely appealing, and I suspect it'll look even better the next time I endure Unstuck Wing-Chafe.
And part of me just wants to build a shed in my backyard where I could camp out in red dresses and no underwear whatsoever (the hell with pads and tampons), just bleeding freely and rinsing myself off once in a while until my uterus finished its business. Make that a shed with a jacuzzi and a campstove, actually - five days of steeping myself in hot water, inside and out? Heaven.
Also heaven: finishing the mug of tea right next to me and heading up to join man, cat and dog. 'Night, y'all.
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