Cathy is my spirit animal. She knows all my dirty drive-thru secrets.
Like how I can’t pull up next to the window at my, err, let’s call it my “local” because it’s always the same lady working the till and she has memorised my order. Once she said, “See you soon” and I was like: “What do you MEAN by that? Are you insinuating that I come here often?”
I said all this in my head, of course. Because you NEVER sass people in the food service industry. I’ve seen Fight Club.
The strange thing is that life is good right now. Marriage is good. My kids are good. We have a little extra money, and I’m predicating that business will be super-galactic next year because this little word farmer has spent the last 12 months sowing her seeds, tending her crop and paying her dues.
So why can’t I lay off the farm-style butter and caramel Marie biscuits?
It comes down to your relationship with food, and for me, food is a celebration. It’s the salmon roses with champagne at the end of a tough project. Except substitute the salmon roses for buffalo wings and the champagne for a Savanna Dry. (My business partner is the classy half of the relationship.)
In the beginning of the year I bought a sunshine yellow digital scale and dropped 8kgs. It was fantastic. My size 36 skinny jeans fit, and I had collarbones again. Fast-forward to November, and last night I couldn’t sleep because it felt like my double chin was suffocating me.
Guess what my New Year Resolution is going to be?