Someone needs to explain to my fetus that whiskey sours are an inappropriate craving. S/he seems to be in a perpetual state of 3am, post-club. All I’ve been craving is greasy junk food and whiskey sours. It’s like I’m 23 again but without any of the other joys of being 23. And of course, no whiskey sours…and I’m at work, not outside of a nightclub in the ass-crack of San Francisco.
All of the extra sour lemonade in the wooooorld is not alleviating this one. It’s been a week and a half now and I still think of them daily. I don’t even like whiskey sours. Seriously, Belly Monster? That’s how it is? It’s going to be a long trip to July.