Last Tuesday was a long one. I was up at 5:00 a.m. putting the finishing touches on my Metro column, I co-hosted the show, which means 9:00 a.m. until 2:00 p.m. is a bit of a blur, then I was lucky enough to conduct a 45-minute-long Q&A with Michael Bonacini in front of some 800 people at the Carlu, and from there, I went straight to the Canadian Screen Awards.
I wore the same dress all day. I don’t know if it was the material or my nerves–or perhaps a combination of both–but my pits wouldn’t stop perspiring. I was shoving tissue under them all day, like I used to do in Grade 8 when this problem first presented itself. There was a moment, when I was seated between my two bosses at the CSA dinner, that I could smell myself. It made me so anxious that I started to sweat even more.
When I got home I found the Beast on the couch and an empty Pizza Hut box on the coffee table. He gave me a hug and then said, “Wow!”
I took my mom to Costco in London, Ont. on Saturday. As we walked the aisles I saw her smiling at everyone she passed. This is typical behaviour. She’s a very amiable woman. But this time, something was different. It was as though she was attempting to will people to acknowledge her intense gaze, not so that she could share her enthusiasm over the contents of her shopping cart–“the shepherd’s pie is to die for!“–but so she could say, “Yes, yes this is Jess from The Social. And she is my daughter.”
Someone finally bought into it, and my mom couldn’t have been more thrilled. “I saw you looking at her,” she whispered to a lovely young woman who was picking up Thanksgiving provisions along with the rest of the city, “and I wanted to tell you it really is her. She’s my daughter, you know.” The woman smiled, told us about the Brie on sale in the next aisle, and was on her way.
“I know we’ve been fighting a lot and it’s Valentine’s Day,” the Beast said to me, “but let me tell you something.”
“Okay,” I answered. He pulled me close and whispered into my ear, “I bet Beethoven never had to put up with this bull shit.”
The other day after work, I had no idea what to make for dinner. Neither did the Beast. So we agreed to meet up at the end of our street to brainstorm and grocery shop. When I saw the Beast get off the streetcar, he had two filled-to-the-brim Value Village bags.
Foodie: Oh good! You really needed some more clothes!
Beast: You’ll feel bad for mocking me when you see what I got.
Foodie: Go on.
Beast: Well, let’s just say, Club Monaco, J Crew–
Beast: Wait for it: Hugo Boss, and the ultimate–remember how I bought myself a plaid tweed jacket last week? Actually, it’s the one that I’m wearing now. Well, I found another one, but this one is Burberry’s signature tweed! And it was only $14.99!
Foodie: That’s incredible. Truly. I am so happy for you. Now you can get rid of the one you’re wearing because who really needs two tweed jackets?
Beast: Do you know what else I got?
Foodie: Don’t tell me it’s another pair of loafers. You DO NOT need more penny loafers or tassel loafers or just loafers in general.
Beast: No, I got burgundy oxfords!
Beast: For our photo shoots? So we can wear the same shoes!
Recently, I was pleasantly surprised to see a nice number looking back at me on my Walmart-purchased digital scale. It was only 3 lb. away from the weight I’d been in 2010 and a whopping 8 lb. less than I’d been just a week before.
I don’t recall trying to lose weight, especially because I’ve been on vacation for the last three weeks. “Well,” I thought, “I guess I have been eating healthy lunches, not to mention going for morning runs,” as I ripped the wrapper off my second Reece peanut butter cup of the day. “Maybe it’s true what those annoying people say: just don’t think about it so much and watch the pounds drip off.”
I’d also been invited out for dinner to a few friends’ places and I always eat half of what I would at home when I’m a guest, out of fear of appearing too gluttonous.
Photography by @smgorama
The beast emailed me last Sunday with a link to this recipe saying that he really wanted to have it for dinner, along with some grilled sausages and rapini.
To be honest, I’ve never been interested in trying those yellow tubes of polenta that you see in the grocery store. But the Beast ended his email with one of the funniest jokes he’s ever made. He wrote:
This looks fucking delish.
So when I was out and about grocery shopping, I picked one up.
When he got home, we prepared our feast together. I must admit, there was something very enticing about the appearance–and the endless possibilities of adorable little “apps” we could devise–of that tubed polenta.