I’ve been a good kid the last few days. Mostly. Gave three talks in two days – to lovely crowds in Phoenix (their WPO) and Orlando with a “red eye” in between. Went to hotel gyms to work out (very elegant at Fairrmont in Scottsdale) even though I mostly felt like lying around and scratching my bottom. And when I finally got home yesterday, by heaven, Hilly and I went to a spin class. Talk about your heroes! SO proud of the old self. Such a good kid.
HOWEVER, full disclosure reveals an old and dreadful flaw: it is SO easy to feel you deserve some disgusting treat after you’ve pushed really hard. Here’s what happened.
Orlando is not much of a food town. But darned if they didn’t have an outpost of the ancient Palm restaurant, from NewYork. I have been sneaking off to the Palm (usually alone) for a long, shameful time and it is one of my favorite, secret vices. So it was in Orlando. I took an expensive limo to the Palm and calmly ordered a martini, an IPA beer (simultaneous, please) and a three-pound lobster. Also some heavenly onion rings and a salad. Before I was done, I had eaten and drunk all of that and had another beer and another half a martini …more than enough to make a person my age borderline-drunk. WHAT a pleasure. HOW I loved it. Had desert, too, like a little piggy.
Well, there you go. And perhaps the worst thing is that I am not even contrite, really. I have come to believe that – for a person of my uneven temperament – falling apart once in a while is just part of life. Rather a nice part, to tell the truth. I’m not a good kid after all. Such a relief. Sigh.
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