Does anyone else feel bloated? And not just because it's General Conference weekend and you've been feasting on the word for two days straight.
I've been feasting on the word and feasting on the feast, if you know what I mean.
Last night my hub took my boys shopping at Kohlers. It just so happens that on Saturday night at Kohlers you can fill a box with donuts for three dollars. What I mean by that is, you can FILL it, as in stuff it, cram it, jam it full with as many donuts as you can fit. It's an all-you-can-eat donut extravaganza.
My particular boys, flesh of my flesh, slammed 50 donuts into one box.
You heard me right.
You just lost a little respect for me, huh?
Fifty freakin' donuts! They're the size of pancakes, but I'm guessing they pack the same caloric punch.
To top it off, yesterday was our annual breakfast buffet at The Golden Corral with my IL's.
This photo is courtesy of the internet and does not necessarily reflect the attitudes of the author. Any similarity to actual food consumed is purely coincidental.
Remember last year when my MIL taught me patience at The Golden Corral? Well patience is a virtue you only need to learn once before you get the hang of it. This year we gave my IL's a 15 minute head start.
And yet we still somehow managed to finish an hour before them.
My children finally left us, crawled out to the car, put the seats down and crashed while my hub and I exercised one of our virtues.
My hub says my MIL should be the ambassador for The Golden Corral. She could go around from table to table making recommendations on all eight types of shrimp available. And the fish. And the omelets. And the waffles. And the steak. And oh, the desserrrrrrrrts. She could make an anorexic eat the dessert at The Golden Corral.
I KID NOT.
Finally my FIL got up to leave. "I'm stuffed!" he said.
"Us too!" we said.
"WAIT!" She called. "HOLD THE PHONE! STOP! In the name of glub! I haven't had my ice cream! Can you give me five more minutes?"
I don't know if it took her five minutes or thirty minutes because we made like a tree and leafed, but I would error on the side of the latter if I had to take a stab at it.
My stabs are pretty accurate when it comes to all-you-can-eat food/time ratios.
It's not just the eating that drags things out so long, it's the talk-talk-talking. And the list-list-listening. Our topic of the day was food storage because my hub and I announced that we had shopped our first ever case lot sale at Maceys.
"Three whole carts!" I bragged.
This reminded my IL's that they still have their food storage under their stairs. It's been there for over forty years.
FORTY YEARS! What the HUH the HOW the WHY?
"That can't be still good!" I declared.
"It is." said my FIL. We checked it ourselves twenty years ago. Or thirty maybe."
That's brilliant if you ask me because if the world gets nuked wouldn't you want to make a quick exit? A can of forty-year-old wheat oughta do the trick instantly. And it would look like an accident. You get me? Even Gad wouldn't suspect.
Get this: my MIL has a can of plum pudding from her parents food storage. The 3rd ward was selling it to buy a new organ back in the early 1900's.
"DON'T EAT IT!" I shouted.
"Oh, I won't," she giggled. "I know it's no good. I'm just keeping it for sentimental reasons."
Don't you just want to hug her?
Okay, has this post made you sufficiently nauseous, or what?
I don't think I can stomach another donut or hear another church talk for at least a week!