Yesterday, I met some cheese. Not just any cheese, but some that had been brought home from Harrod’s, the famous London department store that sells everything, including cheese.
We spent the better part of the yesterday in San Francisco visiting our friends who just relocated back to the Bay Area from Virginia. The man is one of my husband’s closest friends from high school, and his new job takes him to London about once a month.
After a tour of their very cool city house, the guys left with our friend’s two young daughters and flew kites in the park. The women stayed behind and caught up. The cheese was left on the table to keep us company.
I decided to have a taste, just one, on a small cracker. I haven’t had much cheese since starting Weight Watchers, so it was a treat to taste this special kind. But…it was too much of a treat. I didn’t stop at one taste or even two. I had four small slices and then got control of the situation by moving it.
When dinner was served, I knew I had to adjust my portions to reflect the cheese debacle. Grilled steak, potatoes, vegetables and bread became two ounces of grilled steak, one small white potato, vegetables and no bread….and, of course, no dessert.
It all worked out point-wise, but I have to admit that I scared myself on how fast I could attack an innocent piece of cheese. Next time, if there is one, I just won’t take that first bite.
Talk to you soon.
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