Nederlandsiche Sugar High

Damn you, stroopwafels. Damn you to hell.

I gave up eating lousy food for Lent. Or more specifically, I gave up eating food that does lousy things to my body. I used the Justice Potter Stewart definition of lousy food: I know it when I see it. I gave up candy, cookies, ice cream and cake, of course. No deep-fried foods, no fast food, almost no red meat. I added lots of fish to my diet and doubled my intake of vegetables. This has been going remarkably, almost astonishingly well - to the point where I've had three unopened boxes of Girl Scout Cookies at my desk for over a month.

Until today.

Mike got home from Amsterdam last night. Before his trip, I had specifically not mentioned any kind of food and I had deliberately NOT asked him to bring me stroopwafels. I didn't even tell him about them - not what they were, not that they existed. Instead, I'd asked for a cheesy souvenir, and he obliged.

Then... he pulls out another bag. "Babe, these were the only thing I ate in Amsterdam. They're ridiculous." And tosses me two packages of stroopwafels.

I took them to work and frantically gave them away, but I wasn't fast enough for... well... myself. I ate four, and there's another package on the kitchen table now.

When I got home, I had leftover green beans for a snack, but I don't think that really cancels anything out. My Dutch Sugar High is still pleasantly buzzing around my head, but I expect to be a raging, tired bitch in about an hour.

STROOOOOOPWAAAAAAAFELS!!!!

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