After work today, I had a 3 miler that was pretty much the antithesis of my crappy 3 miler on Tuesday, and I finished that bad boy up in 27:36. Who knows why some runs, of the same distance and under the same conditions, can be so different from one another; I guess it's one of life's mysteries.
Anyway, after I finished running, I showered up and then Jerry and I went out to dinner to our favorite Cajun place for some beers and delicious food (he had a sausage po' boy and I had the muffuletta -- a sandwich whose name always spurs some sexual repartee). As we were waiting for our sandwiches, and whilst we were enjoying our Stella Artois, we were chatting and I was telling him about this gigantic poop I had this morning -- yes, I am a dinner conversational genius, and yes, it's a miracle I ever found someone to marry me -- and we got to discussing fruit, which led to the funniest quote of the evening from Jerry: "I like fruit; I just don't like the work that goes in to it."
He went on to explain that his ideal "fruit situation" is on a cruise's buffet where he can load up on 20 pieces of bacon and then get two strawberries and feel as though he's had his fruit for the day.
I don't know why this entire conversation bears repetition here, except that I thought it was a funny slice of "Jess and Jer Life" and fairly accurate depiction of our day-to-day conversations, but I am also a little drunk right now, so that may lend the anecdote to being funnier than it truly is. But really? C'mon, we can transition from shit to strawberries without missing a beat; that's funny.
Anyhoo...I think I may just continue the evening with more beer now that we're home. After all, Jerry has promised to play Scrabble with me, and in a few hours "The Office" and "30 Rock" are on, and what makes funny even funnier? Beer!
P.S. Jerry was just reading over my shoulder and he claims he did NOT say "20 pieces of bacon." His edit: "I said '5 pieces of bacon, 3 slices of ham, and 2 sausage links,' remember?" Sorry, I guess my powers of reportage fail me when it comes to detailing all the kinds of pig my husband can consume.