So, fall is here. Another season…another admission of defeat…another round of fat clothes for those of us who weren’t able to lose those 40 (or, um, 60) pounds over the summer (or the last ten years). It’s depressing, I tell you. I don’t know what my stumbling block is, but it is a tall and mighty block indeed, covered with stinging nettles, scorpions, and all sorts of sundry creepy and perhaps gelatinous things. It’s just not good. Must. Start. Exercising. Seriously, here. Can someone motivate me? Anyone? I wore new jeans today and didn’t have a lot of room in my back pocket for a capo. It’s demoralizing. But it (and fall) also bring on the topic of…

…comfort foods. Because when you’re buying more fat clothes (not bigger fat clothes, just seasonal fat clothes), you turn to comfort food because it’s your best way of dealing with such a purchase. πŸ˜‰ Anyway, fall is prime comfort food weather. Soups, stews, chicken and dumplings, chili, stuffing (oh, yes, stuffing), and pizza. Carbs, cheese, and tomato sauce…what could be better?

I had a gig today, outside, with serious downpours. We all emerged wet, tired, and kind of sticky from humidity. So of course we had to order pizza. This is always a hard-won victory for one of us. I’m a cheese girl, when it comes down to it. Maybe bacon and black olives if I’m feeling saucy. Get it? Saucy? Okay, moving on….My boy loves pepperoni and would be quite content to make a meal of naught but the greasy pork discs. And he’s vocal about it. My husband abhors vegetable matter of any sort on pizza (and generally in life). He’s a meat pizza man, and sausage in particular. Our lovely local pizzeria makes the only sausage pizza I will touch. They finely chop the sausage instead of slapping on gigantic gristly chunks (pardon me while I shudder). Anyway, tonight we ordered pizza with bacon. So good. Because everything’s better with bacon. Dare I say it? I’m kind of tempted to order a pizza featuring bacon, sausage, and pepperoni–just once, to taste the triumvirate of pizza meats on one luscious pie.

Will I do it? Of course not. That would mean more defeat. More fat clothes. Must cast out sinful pork-related thoughts. God help me. But jeez, where will I run for comfort? πŸ˜‰