B.R.A.T!

No, no! This is not Evangeline behaving in a bratty fashion (perish the thought!). This is my Administrative Assistant, wedged tightly tucked neatly in on the desk, where she can totally impede be of assistance with any typing done by my right hand. She'd be the first to tell you, if I have any success writing my children's stories, any cleverness involved in blogging, any value in correspondence....it's in direct proportion to how close she is to me at the time.



I'm not actually referring to the fat, juicy, succulent, crisp-charred and delicious morsel enrobed in spicy, flavorful mustard and adorned with icy-cold crunchy sauerkraut we fondly call "Brats" either. Although........ merde! Having written that last bit, and gazed at that photographic image, I have to tell you that at THIS. PRECISE. MOMENT! there is nothing on the face of the globe that I want more than that exact, precise, identical thing. Want? Desire. Crave. Yearn for. Need. Excuse me, I'm stepping away for a brief howling scream weep.

Thank you, all better.

No...the B.R.A.T. referred to in the title of this post refers instead to a diet to which I have been sentenced for "a few days". Now, I know this means "more than one". I fear it means "more than ten", but I'll investigate. OK, Dale-Harriet, what is this, and why are you so sentenced?

A one-word reason: BLECCH. For about a week now, I've been under the weather. Sick? No..."sick" implies you're really out of sorts, you take to your bed with cool cloths on your head, you begin planning your own memorial service, you become familiar with the precise time and distance from the bed to the bathroom. I'm not sick. Well, then, what's the opposite, ruddy and hearty good health?

Nay, I say. There is that little window between the two, where you're not sick enough to get out of work or school, can put off responsibilities with a clear conscience, &c. Nor are you "just a little tired" but able to sum up enthusiasm for your required daily turn. I don't know that there's a name for this particular level of malaise ..although, now I think on it, "malaise" might be just the term.

(Am I digressing? Huhn!) Here are my symptoms...and no worries, you weak of stomach, nothing here will distress you. I'm gassy. I'm gurgly in the middle. I'm (this is the worst part) unenthusiastic about eating. Re-read that last line. Think about it. Ponder it.

So, I did what any Aging Hypochondriac does (well....ok, "hypochondriac" might be a little extreme, but I felt like it this time). I called the doctor. And I described how I felt in exact, precise, colorful, descriptive - and in some places medically-accurate terms. (All those years working at UW Hospital paid off...nevermind that I worked in Plastic Surgery, Otolaryngology and Outpatient Psych.)

"Oh YES," crowed the nurse (of whom I am, might I add, very fond). "You have IT !" Images of creaking old wooden carts rumbling down cobblestone roads came to mind, pushed by raggedy old men screeching "Bring out your DEAD...bring out your DEAD!" Have I mentioned my Overactive Imagination?

Anyway, the prescription is "Eat the B.R.A.T. diet for a few days. Set ya right up."

So...for the time being, I'm restricted to Bananas, Rice,Applesauce, and Toast. Now, the other element to this charmer? NO DAIRY! So, you know, no rice with melted cheese, no toast soggy with melted butter, no bananas carmellized in .... well, you get the picture. There's a Yiddish word for this (isn't there always?): FEH!! That's on the order of "meh" only moreso.

So far, (third day) it hasn't seemed to make any miraculous changes to my off-kilter alimentary canal. Hmmmmmm.....

What's the name of that yoghurt stuff? If it's good enough for Jamie Lee Curtis~~~~