Margherita Pasta

I have a flower from my basil plant stuck somewhere between that dangly thing at the back of my throat and the far left recesses of my tongue.

Because. . . . . .

I had to go to the doctor today. For a physical. Bluk.

My stomach was in knots. My vision going blurry.
They made me get on the scale and I almost threw up. Which would have been good, because then I would have weighed less. But since that didn’t pan out, instead I removed every ounce of clothing within the legal limit so maybe I could shave 1/4 ounce off my thighs.

The nurse took my blood pressure.  And I started hyperventilating. Not good when your supposed to be in a relaxed state.

The doctor came in looking SUPER hoity toity, said a bunch of crap, and told me. . . .

I’m not even sure I can type it.

He told me. . .
that. . .
I. . . .
needed to lose 20 pounds. WHAAAAHHHHHHHH????????

Damn suit. Or ummm. . .damn scrubs.

Now I know I’m no super model, but 20 POUNDS!  I think he just lost his durn knee knocker thingy. I mean seriously, I’m no Naomi Campbell, which is why I didn’t show up in a bikini, but 20 pounds?  If I do that my mom and sister are going to think I’m anorexic. And look at me all sad and pitiful everytime they see. My mom will ask me if I need to tell her something, and my sister will be apalled that I still haven’t bought new jeans even though the ones I’m wearing are clearly falling off and showing my butt crack.

20 pounds??? I’ll give him 15 pounds tops.  I’d be happier with 10, but well. . . .my math is bad.

I hated that man for saying that. Which is wrong. Sorry Mommy. But dislike just isn’t a strong enough word. I hated him for looking so smug. And for trying to tell me how to eat well. I basically told him to “Shove it” with my eyes.

“Yes, I know.” I said. “I know all the things to do in order to lose weight. I personally prepare most of the food my family eats. We eat very healthy, I guess I just need to exercise more.”

Then he starts hammering down my throat his caveman diet.  How he thinks we should eat. No carbs. Mostly greens and meat. Seriously dude. Not cool. I have a food blog to maintain.

So I did the only thing I knew to do. I lied and lied, and lied.

“What do you drink?” he questioned.

“Water.” I lied.

“Fruit juice is bad you know. What do you give your kids?”

“Water. Water. Water. The Woo’s only drink water. No soft drinks, sugars, or artificial anything for us. Strictly caveman kool-aid. Which would be water.”

“What about corn. Eat alot of that?”


“Roots? Do you munch on carrots?”

“Nay. Nay. Ix. Nay. Too much carby badness. WE only eat celery and cucumber. Every now and then I throw in a rice grain.  Brown of course. But only one granule. Fruits only for treats, and never bananas. Too high on the glycemic index.” I smiled as I paved my road to hell.

We went on like this for about 20 minutes and I’m sure he knew I was a debaucherous whench,  but I didn’t care. Then with all his cockiness and ‘know it all’ aire he told me to get on the table so he could finish my physical.

He listened to my heart.
He looked in my ears.
He checked out my legs. With that knee knobby thingy. (Not with his eyes. Get your mind out of the gutter.)

And then he looks me straight in the eye and says, “Mrs. Woodard, you have a very young face.”

And I think I love him.
Not like I love Mr. Woo of course. Like you love your doctor. If he’s not mean, and telling you your butt is fat.
And I have salad and water for dinner. With a tiny lemon tart. Just because I can.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –  – –

So what in the whageezers does a basil flower have to do with any of this?

Well, because I’m totally self conscious I ran home and straight to my garden. To check to see if there were vegetables there. Because I do know what they are. I just don’t always want them shoved up in my face.

And this is what I found.

And just to teach that durn doctor a lesson, I cooked with them. And as I was cutting and chopping and thinking all sorts of ungodly not very nice thoughts about that man who would have me lose weight, my eyes fell upon this lovely white flower on my basil leaves.

And I ate it. And it tasted sweet. Like honeysuckle. And then I ate another. And then it got stuck at the back of my throat. Causing a strange coughing/hurl/tickle sensation.

So I coughed.
And chuckled.

And the flower was expunged from the deepest darkest places of my jaws, and I made this lovely pasta.

The end.

Margherita Pasta

1 1b. of your favorite pasta (we use whole wheat round  these parts)
3 medium sized tomatoes
Salt, to taste
1/2 cup Pesto
1 cup mozzarella, grated

1. Preheat oven to 400.
2.Cook pasta according to package directions.
3. While the pasta is cooking, cut tomatoes into bite size pieces. Sprinkle with salt. Set aside.
4. When pasta is done cooking, drain. Place pasta into a oven proof casserole dish and toss with tomatoes, and pesto. Top with mozzarella and bake for 15 minutes or until the cheese is melted and the edges become slightly crisp. Let cool slightly. Enjoy!

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8 thoughts on “Margherita Pasta

  1. That just made me get all huffy and puffy, I mean, really, what does some MAN-Doctor know anyway?!  Ugh!  And, I am 5 months pregnant and practically strip to my unmentionables every time I have to weigh in…they can look at me all crazy-eyed, I don’t really care, cause 3 oz less, is 3 oz less 😉 

    1. Hehehe. I did the same thing with all four of my girls. Pregnant or not,
      its hard to watch those numbers go up. I wish you could come give my doc one
      of your crazy eyed glares 🙂

  2.  Hahahahaha!  I love pesto and pasta! and you! Don’t pay attention to that doctor! They DON’T  know everything!

  3. HAHAHA!  I hope it was delightful!  Doctors … geez.  I’d never go back.  : )   

    You’re so funny.  Love it!

  4. You are too funny. See.. I must have found a thesarus because I said something other than, “you crack me up”. I’m glad you love your dr. (now).. and that you kept at least the legal limit of clothes on. Oh and I learned not to look at your blog when it’s really late and I’m really hungry.

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