Ok, wishful thinking calling myself a beauty. While I am from the land down under and I did try to be beautiful and even though beauty is apparently only skin deep, my natural reaction to claw, kick and bi-atch fight anyone who stands between my food and I pretty much vetoes my right to all beauty, including that of the inner variety, which is normally hidden below layers of flubber.
So be it. Eating is so much more rewarding anyway.
I think there is a chance (a chance?) that I have an imbalance of something in my brain, because nothing else would explain my ridiculous childlike excitement as the sun peeked out from behind the clouds this morning and I woke up realising that today is Christmas Day is my birthday I win lotto we go to Vegas I get a puppy we go to the Taste of London Festival. Are you as excited as I am? You’re not? It’s ok, I know a puppy would have totally rawked, but food is a worthy consolation.
The day actually had the potential to go pear-shaped, what with the spanktastic top I bought last week turning out to not be as spanktastic as I had originally thought, and the fact that I (who has never once been tardy – retarded yes, tardy no) thought we were running late so I made my boyfriend run to the event with me (closed my eyes, followed the fragrance of yummy). But we arrived (early, as usual, thanks to the pre-eating jog) and so the Eating began.