Just to be completely honest with ya’ll, expect very little in the form of exercise in the next three weeks. I plan to have my behind firmly planted in a chair for the brief but foreseeable future. Writing this book is by far the hardest thing I have ever done, both emotionally and professionally.
I did allow myself one last night off, because The Fella and I celebrated our one year anniversary last night.
So here’s a little background on our little love story. The Fella and I met on an online dating site. My profile said something along the lines of:
They say you’ll know what a woman will look like in 30 years by looking at her mother, unfortunately for you I look like my father which means in 30 years I’ll bear a striking resemblance to Santa Claus.
I got an email from a ridiculously attractive Israeli man informing me that “The original Santa Claus was Turkish.”
I told him I was too pasty white for the Mediterranean look so I planned to stick with the red crushed velvet pantsuit in my later years.
Email flirting was born.
After about a week of Internet bonding he asked if we could meet in person and I immediately freaked out. I sent his picture to a bajillion of my friends with the question, “Is this guy too hot for me?”
To which I received many a lecture about what an ginormous idiot I was being and to never kick a supermodel in the mouth.
So I went on the date.
I swear when Roy saw me he looked disappointed. He insists that this was not a look of disappointment, but one of confusion because my hair was lighter than in my online pictures.
Upon seeing his disapproving face I immediately told myself that this wasn’t going to work…at all, and to feel free to be my normal, sarcastic self as opposed to the sweet tempered first-date Kim I had planned.
We had lunch, then we walked in the park, then we got ice cream, then we walked in the park again, then we went to a book store, then we walked in the park again, then we sat in a cafe for a while drinking water, and then six hours later, he had to leave for work.
Turns out he liked normal sarcastic Kim.
He tells everyone who will listen that he had one date with me and never wanted to date anyone else. I think that’s sweet, but probably not true. Still, it’s sweet.
Within a month, we’d had 9000 additional dates and he’d asked me to officially be his girlfriend by presenting me with a toothbrush to keep at his place.
One year later, we’re more disgustingly cuddly than ever, and if I could go back and tell the me that was completely disillusioned with dating to just hang in there and not settle on the first guy that seemed like he was nice enough (which is what I was starting to tell myself), I would.
Egg white omelet with spinach, onion, and mushrooms
Whole wheat English muffin with peach preserves
Vegetable soup with a side of Trader Joe’s edamame nuggets
Romantic Dinner for Two
Since we’re spending the majority of our savings on our move, we decided to keep things low key for our anniversary. There’s an Italian restaurant in his (soon to be my) neighborhood that we’ve been trying to get into for months, but whenever we go there’s a line waiting that circles around Manhattan, part of The Bronx, and the majority of Connecticut.
The stars must have been aligned in our favor because we got in without a wait.
I started with wine
We shared a pizza appetizer
and two pasta entrees
Afterward we went home for a night of mad, passionate carb coma. We totally fell asleep with our clothes still on. So romantic.