You want to see slices of my life. You want to see how I live here in Manhattan. You want to know what those in the know know and do. You want to see if it’s all it’s cracked up to be on Sex and the City. “Jodi, which of those four strumpets are you most like?” you wonder. “And don’t give us the results of one of those hilarious online quizzes! Tell us! Spill!”
Well, spills are messy. And tonight’s the maid’s night off. So I hate to tell you, but I’m not letting you in on the ins and outs of daily life here! Especially not mine. You really don’t want to see photos of what I see at the gym. Even if I did hang around in the locker room (which I don’t), believe me, you wouldn’t want to see what hangs out there and how much and how low. You don’t want to see the rest of what makes up my days and nights (Charles in Charge), details of which I won’t reveal either pictorially or verbally. And if you do, well, that’s just too bad.
What I will show you, of course, is what’s inside my stomach now. But don’t worry and/or get excited. I’ll only show it to you before it found its way there. If I don’t show you photos of my exterior, I certainly won’t show you what’s inside either.
So now, without further fanfare, here is what I had for lunch today at the always outstanding Candle Cafe:
Layers of sweet potato, black beans and millet.
Surrounded by steamed greens. Served with country gravy.
Now, won’t you agree that this is more satisfying than seeing and hearing about all the untethered tits flitting about the gym locker room?
I thought so.