There are only 3 words that will get you into my heart (or pants):
***VENID A COMER***
I am waiting patiently for a delicious Spanish dinner, and these are the words Mercedes always says. And damn if I'm not STARVING prior to every meal...
Lunch is the biggest meal of the day and I take advantage of that wholeheartedly, lemme tell ya. But, by the time dinner rolls around a good 6 1/2 hours later, I'm about to die of hunger...
This blog is really just a distraction until she calls us to the kitchen. I hear lots of pots clanging and dishes being taken out. I am foaming at the mouth and my stomach is growling.
Here's a picture of the metaphorical me, one of Pavlov's dog (a wonderful reference I will accredit to my roommate, Angela, because, well, we are on the level of dogs at this point):
Okay, perhaps this is not one of Pavlov's dogs, but it gets the point across. I can hear frying now. LOVE OF GOD, LET ME EAT!!
It's now 9:30 PM, a little late for our normal dinner. I usually watch the news to get myself through the grueling last half-hour of starvation. Also, there are some delicious Solano candies on the table out there that I eat while she cooks. Tonight, however, I am stuck in the confines of my room planning trips and blogging to my one reader (shout out JULIE).
9:33 PM. This shit is getting out of hand. We usually eat by 9:20ish...
9:34 PM. I feel like Edgar Allen Poe, sans the beating heart under the floorboard, plus the stomach cryiiiiiiiiiing for food.
9:34:30 PM. I am chewing my hand. Angela is crying against the wall about to pass out.
9:35 YESSSSS VENID A COMERRRRRR
Post-Publication Note: Last night's meal consisted of delicious pasta with cheesy sauce, a small tortilla espanola with spinach, and three cheese triangles. Worth the absolute pre-meal agony, per usual.