continuing in my recent pattern of shameful behavior and self-redeeming confessions, here's my latest mae culpa:
last night i had chinese take-out. even though it wasn't a sunday. but i had a long day, my brain waz fried, and i badly needed a sweet & sour chicken. and fried rice. and an egg roll. and veggie dumplings. (in my defense, i didn't finish the rice... until this morning). the worst is yet to come.
i had it delivered.
although i live less than 2 blocks from my new favorite place on earth, jin house, i couldn't bear to put on real clothing and walk those approximately 1.75 blocks. plus, i was busy studying. well, okay, i was busy watching a few episodes of season 1 of SATC.
the girl on the phone told me 25 minutes, which seemed to me an inordinate amount of time, considering they invariably tell me 10 minutes if i tell them i'm picking it up myself. the 25-minute wait almost made me want to walk and get it. but i didn't.
and then something both magical and disturbing happened.
exactly 8 minutes after i hung up the phone, my doorbell rang. could it really be? how is this possible? with some hesitation in my voice, i told the delivery guy, "wow, that was really fast..." to which he smiled and replied, "you're welcome."
it turned out to be the best, hottest, freshest, most perfect chinese take-out i've ever had. i think the entire transaction was extremely efficient. my food was brought to me as soon as it was made. neither i nor my carboload meal had to sit and wait. and my evening of productivity was uninterrupted. perfection in a take-out bag.
and that's the story i'm sticking with in order to feel less guilty. the diet resumes monday. don't judge me.