Maybe It's Karma

That's it; I'm done with pasta.

Tonight for dinner I had baked chicken breast and a small serving of bake penne pasta. I say small serving because it was literally a few tablespoons. I followed the rules. I ate slow. I chewed my food. I stopped before feeling full and still the pasta hit bottom like a ton of bricks. Of all foods, pasta is not my friend. It happens every time and I'm done with it.

I mean it; this time I really do. Maybe it's karma for all the bad I've done over the years with pasta. Me and pasta have done some crazy things: lasagna, spaghetti and meatballs, seafood fettuccine, brown butter & Parmesan, and a few others I can't mention in public. I remember a time when we were living in China. We found a little Italian restaurant run by a local man who called himself Chef Luigi. It was like manna from heaven. Actually it was more like an island of crusty bread and linguine in a sea of noodles and rice.

All things change. I'm not going to loose any sleep over my former friend, pasta. We had a good run, but I've moved on. It was good, but now it makes me sick, literally.