The F-Word

Very tired, so tonight's post will have less-than-suave transitions between topics.

The bowl to the left shows less than HALF of the tuna tartar that was part of today's mysterious, Japanese-menu-only, special. What do you think? Would it have been, say, a pound of tuna?!

My friend's hand, and the soy sauce bottle, are shown for scale. Think about it.

Yes, tomorrow is WW weigh-in day, and after 4 days away (in distant Jersey City, heh) I am rather afraid of what the results will be tomorrow. The sashimi lunch was our attempt to be good. Of course, my udon special was not exactly light, since (a) noodles = points, and (b) it turned out to come with shrimp tempura. (Ah, the flip side of ordering from the Japanese menu when you don't read Japanese: the occasional surprise!)

And the sweater is being blocked, as I try to decide what fastening to shape (ties? buttons? hmmm...)

And the f-word refers to "fiancee" which is what my engineer's dad referred to me as. Granted, he was merely using it to put off a visit from the physical therapist, as in, "No we can't make an appt for this weekend, because my son's fiancee is visiting." (As you can imagine, this generated an immediate phone call from my engineer's mom.)

Now while his dad was merely using the word as an excuse, and not because it was actually TRUE, I find it interesting that neither my sweetheart or myself ran screaming into the night at the very concept.