Guilty.

I’m a bad gay in that I’m not particularly a fan of Barbra Streisand. Isn’t that awful? Gay men and lesbians alike lose their minds when she hits the stage but I just think, “yeah, she’s not bad”. I enjoy her motivation and her stamina but I don’t get all breathless when she sings. Nevertheless, I do enjoy some of her work and whenever I eat pasta the 1980 hit “Guilty” goes through my head.

On a never-ending quest to lose weight I strive to eat healthy more often than when I’m not eating healthy. Pasta is sort of a no-no in the “my, but look at the size of your spare tire” clique, but sometimes I want some pasta. My husband tries to help the situation by buying protein leaning pasta and that keeps Bab’s voice from going through my head, but Thursday night we went to a local Italian place and I couldn’t help myself: rigatoni and peas were the order of the day.

It was delicious.

In a weird attempt to keep Barbra’s crooning of “Guilty” from ransacking my brain for the following 48 hours I opted to sit in a way at the restaurant table that would have displeased Barbra. By sitting in her preferred seat (where her profile would have met her acceptable standards), I prevented her from entering my realm and I enjoyed the pasta dish in peace. Twice. I ate half of it at dinner and ate the other half at lunch the next day.

Welcome to the way my brain works. Have a seat, you look hungry.

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