Endorphins rule!
“What were you doing up at sunrise on a hot, late-summer morning, La Triv?”, I hear you ask.
Walking, that’s what! Shedding some kgs! Soon La’ll have to run around in the shower to get wet, as regular reader Angelos Lobos in Olde Dublin Town would say.
Which means that stealing this motherlode of much-kneaded, glutentastic, carbo-loaded goodness from the morning doorway of my local caf was not an option.
That’s because CARBS ARE BAD. Did you hear me? CAAARRRBS AAAAARE BAAAAAAD. They’re up there with IS and Tony Abbott.
The carbs in pink drinks, however, are just fine. That’s because Special Occasion Carbs (SOCs, not to be confused with FoPs) have no fatsoid particles in them whatsoever.
Know you all love a bit of man/cocktail p*rn, so here’s Signor Seriousimo clutching a pink drink on a recent, carb-free (for me) visit to LuMi. It’s great, get yourself there yesterday.
Part of the reason for the arguably excessive sunrise-trotting and carb-shunning is this: the emergence of yet another Alarming Pant Trend.
While these palazzo-dacks-on-steroids might look like they’d hide the sins of a bakery’s worth of finger buns, it’s actually the opposite: one has to be a srsly bony-assed set of angles to pull this look off. It’s enough to make me doubt the tastemaking skills my beloved J. Crew.
So, with the help of Jack at Vision Personal Training, La Triv is being super on-track about getting skinny healthy so she can be super on-trend about getting into the finger-bun pants.
A recent brekkie with baked eggs and beans and a big fat old ‘shroom at Illy Hill Cafe in Marrickville got the Jack stamp of approval.
That is, except for the sourdough toast. Had to leave that, which made La feel bad for the poor people who can’t afford fancy Sydney artisan breads.
Illy Hill’s amazing. It’s staffed by earnest, quiet men on the downhill slope from 35, with tidy lad-buns and flat caps, searching diligently for kale juice glasses to clear and napkins to straighten.
They even do funky things with pineapple tops and cardboard coffee trays.
And, because they’re betting men, they wager that any woman or man who loves wholesome food and a good grind is likely to love the young Robert Redford as well. (As opposed to the older, craggy Robert Redford who’s had bad face work.)
Speaking of grumpy sods earnest men, Seriousimo has been very, ahem, serious of late. La promised him that ripping up a bunch of stinky old carpets in our new palazzo* was the right thing to do, because the floors they concealed were sure to be clean, varnished and character-filled (read: requiring no reparative investment).
Ah…not so much, as it turned out.
Seriousimo is Not Happy. La told him to belt up, that it was my own “captain’s call”, and that another pink drink would calm him right down.
As Florence would say, the dog days are over.
*More on this in a future post. Promise.
La Trivialista 