a spoonful of cookie dough helps the medicine go down

Finally!

I just thought about the fact that I haven't felt well since the middle of December! That's when it all started. But alas, I have regained my will to live! Hooray!

The Pastor has been asked to speak at another church, out of town, in March. The Pastor always gets frustrated with these out-of-town speaking engagements.

He never knows how much he is going to get paid up-front, he just takes whatever people give him. He doesn't ever know what the accommodations will be ahead of time. For instance, he was on the phone with the pastor of the church who is trying to woo him to come. He asked the guy what he thought to be basic questions, like will there be a place for my kids to sleep? Uhhhhhhhh, he didn't know. And these are the kinds of questions people are unable to answer when they are inviting you to come to their church!

invariably what happens on these deals is we end up spending a lot of time driving in the car, the Pastor gets all mad and it's in no way beneficial to us, but some lucky people get to hear the Pastor preach. I told the Pastor this is ridiculous. Whenever stars like Mariah Carey or Britney Spears get asked to go to an engagement, their publicist or assistant or handler or whatever, will send over the list of demands. Like white flowers MUST be in the dressing room or a bowl full of only red m&m's. I was telling the Pastor he should make up a list of demands too. Hmmm.

Smart Pastor vs. Very Dumb Pastor
The Pastor was sitting at our dining room table. All of the children are gone or asleep. The room is romantically lit. I have on my pretty pajamas. So I saunter over to the refrigerator to get the tub of cookie dough and I grab a couple of spoons. Isn't this all very sweet? I'm thinking how the Pastor and I can lovingly share bites of cookie dough and have nice conversation.

Let me pause for a moment and back up to earlier in the day. I had been waiting for the Pastor to pick me up and noticed in my reflection that I actually had a booty. I admired my booty and thought back to the time when I was flat-a**ed. And for a brief shining moment, I thought "I like my booty". Now how often does THAT happen? The Pastor picked me up, (thank goodness he had a car and didn't have to physically carry my giant backside) and this was still on my mind. I mentioned to him "you know, I used to not have a bottom. It was all just flat back there". I think the Pastor took this to mean I think I'm fat. Well, because that IS usually what I'm thinking.

OK, back to the romance and the cookie dough and blah blah blah. I sit down across from the Pastor and he starts talking about how he cannot allow me to simultaneously complain about the size of my bottom, try various diets AND ingest cookie dough. Just how much cookie dough did he think I was going to eat? Well, the night ended with me tearfully explaining that for one brief shining moment I had actually been content with my bottom, and I just wanted a spoonful of cookie dough.

I think it was his secret plan, a way he knew he could have more of the cookie dough to himself. He should probably include cookie dough on his list of demands.