Everyone, gather round. I have something important to tell you. I have made a ruling. A monumental ruling.
Calories eaten in he middle of the night don’t count. They just don’t. They fall into the abyss of nothingness or into limbo or the Bermuda Triangle of missing Girl Scout Cookies.
I mean, think about it. Do you write down your 3 a.m. fridge raid for the day prior seeing as you haven’t really woken op or do you count them toward the next day because it’s after midnight? And, if you are eating because the pangs of hunger prevent you from going to sleep at 3 a.m., should it even be considered consumption? Hello, it’s medicine.
OK. Not really.
But I will say that I had absolutely no choice at 3:30 a.m. but to eat. I woke up at 3 a.m. to go to the bathroom because, you know, I do that and I couldn’t go back to sleep. At first, I thought it was because I was using the solitary moment of quiet in the house to think. Wrong. I was hungry. Super hungry. I tried to roll over. Forget it. But groan. Loud groan. So I got up, plodded to the kitchen and poured myself a bowl of Cinnamon Puffins (btw – not as good as the PB variety) and ate it out of my favorite penguin mug with some 1 percent milk.
Then I went back to bed. As luck would have it, though, the cereal didn’t put me to sleep either. Oh no. I was up till 5:30 and then slept till 6:15. Thanks for the bark in the face, Denali.
Friday love will be a bit delayed today. No sleep = Frozen brain. Or, really, something lovely is happening later, and I might take photos.
And just for giggles, something to make you smile. BTW, this didn’t happen last night in our house. I’d have to take out the shelves for Denali to fit. And even then, he’d steal the bottle of hoisin sauce (which I almost put on my English muffin this morning because I was so tired) and eat it before he’d consider hanging out for a photo.