Sunday, December 24, 2023


While I was making a drawing on the computer and contemplating dinner (my apartment mate, a Cantonese American woman, having informed me upon getting home that there was food! in the kitchen), the doorbell rang. My landlady (a Cantonese American woman) was there with a cold box of meats and a large bag of various goodies for us for Christmas.

So, thanks to the first-mentioned person, I feasted on roast chicken and duck for dinner. There is still a tonne of it left over. And the right-side vegetable bin is now filled with four footed farm animals of various types. Thanks to the second-mentioned.

There is NO room in the freezer. Fortunately we've got the refrigerator set very low.
So things should keep a while.

Remarkably, I am not at all morbidly obese.
Despite Cantonese American women.

It is not at all surprising that the nutritionist/dietician with whom my doctor arranged an appointment for me four years ago was a Cantonese American woman. It seems appropriate. There may be a synchronicity between Cantonese American women and food.

My apartment mate evidently believes that I am thin. Thinnish. To quote: "L. (our landlady) probably thinks you are scrawny and need fattening up". Which, if you ask me, is absurd. Both of these women clearly weigh less than me, and even taking into account that typically Cantonese American women are smaller than Dutch American men -- even if one or two of us are normal size rather than the current crop of corn-fed glandular freaks -- if any one needs to be "fattened up", it is both of them. Seriously.

Did I mention that they clearly weigh less than me?

There is babka. And also butter.
Both of them like butter.

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