Chicken, Nephrology, and Evil Velcro

Three cheers for grown-up food!  That's what I put in my belly today, and it was good.  Chicken (not puréed, but an actual slice of solid meat) with egg-fried-rice.  Udon noodles with seafood, and tofu teriyaki.  A fresh, warm crêpe with dark chocolate and strawberries.  I didn't clear my plate by any means, but heck yeah, fist pump for Real Food!

I wasn't sure I'd ever be able to eat properly again.  On Thursday night a promising experiment with two slices of very plain pizza (no cheese, just green peppers, mushrooms, a hint of tomato sauce, and a few paper-thin circles of pepperoni) went horribly wrong.  I thought I was fine, until I woke at 12:30 am with gut-twisting pain.  There was no jettisoning of pizza, however the misery in my belly kept me awake most of the night.  On Friday I felt exhausted and my spirit, broken.  I went out and bought another week's supply of tasteless mush.  Now I'm thinking the food bank box at my local supermarket is the best place for the rest of that stuff.

Today was also the first day in weeks that I got out of the house with Ken for some quality time together.  Even before I fell ill he'd been working on the weekends for a while, so it had been more than a month since our last outing.  We were in desperate need of a chance to discuss something other than house chores and the state of my digestive tract.

A friend had given us free tickets to the Everything to do with S*x Show.  We figured it would be good for a laugh, so we set off for the downtown Toronto Convention Centre.  There's an indoor tunnel several blocks long from the train station to the Convention Centre.  We walked along it surrounded by well-dressed, attractive people in the 25-50 age range.  "Look at all the perverts!" said Ken.  "They must be going to the S*x show too."  I remarked that they were dressed more in line with an outing to an upscale restaurant than anything kinky, but what do I know?

Once at the Convention Centre, we squinted at the LED notice board to determine which hall we should head for.  Let's see... The Nephrology Nurses and Technologists' Association Convention.  The Food and Wine Show.  And...  The Nephrology Nurses and Technologists' Association Convention - wait, we saw that one already.  I suggested that Ken check the tickets, which had been solely in his possession since they were gifted to us.  He did.  And guess what?  We were at the wrong convention centre.  All those "perverts" were in fact headed to the Food and Wine show.

OK, no problem.  I wasn't really all that jazzed about viewing displays of rubbery toys or watching strangers model leather gear.  It would probably have made for a fun blog post, but I can truly live without the experience and feel no poorer for it.

Instead, we took care of an errand that meant much more to me.  We walked to the nearby Mountain Equipment Co-op store.  I purchased a new winter coat.  A winter coat with SNAPS and NO VELCRO.

For the past three years I have been living with a cannibalistic coat.  It eats clothes.  It even chews on itself.  It's one of the most annoying pieces of clothing I've ever dealt with, and that's saying a lot.

The old coat fastened with a zipper, and overtop of that, a flap secured by half-a-dozen tabs of velcro.  Super-industrial-strength, no-pity-for-the-weak velcro.  No matter how I tried to avoid it, that velcro got its little hooks into all my sweaters, all my scarves, even my stockings, and tore the crap out of them.  Sometimes the damage could be somewhat smoothed over by rubbing down the frayed fabric, but other items were instantly wrecked.  It would attach itself to things while I was putting it on or taking it off, or worse, while I was carrying it around indoors folded over my arm.  Which was usually while I was shopping.  You know, for new clothes.  Brand new, previously perfect clothes.  Despite my best intentions, I may have occasionally lost control of my coat, allowing it to take get its vicious teeth into garments hanging innocently on display.  But I'm not admitting anything; the evidence is all circumstantial; and anyway it's the malls' fault for not offering lockers or a coat check.

Both cuffs of this stupid coat were totally trashed from repeatedly snagging on itself.  It looked like a dog had gnawed it.  Not attractive, trust me.

Today, I bought a similar coat, different in two important ways.
1)  It's plum-coloured, much nicer than the old one, which was depressingly black.  I only bought black last time because the alternate colour that year was a nasty shade of military green, which made me look jaundiced.
2)  NO FREAKING VELCRO!!!  It has metal snaps instead.  I can wear my favourite sweaters without worrying that they'll be destroyed.

The old coat took one more bite out of me as I squashed it into a little ball and shoved it into the "donations" bag.  It knew where it was going, and it was bitter.  That coat was a bad egg from the start.  I'm glad to see it go.  I hope that the person who ends up with it is someone who likes to wear pleather and PVC all the time.  Or I'll just be passing on the problem to someone else...  Geez.  On second thought, maybe I should burn it.