A few notes:
Peak addict behavior on display & I maintain the high is more in the ordering, getting & unbagging than the eating... although she's still coasting the high during her first few bites. The gleeful giddiness is something else & she's so amped on getting the food, she is completely unaware or uncaring of how she's presenting herself. She looks like she rolled out of bed just long enough to take her first 3 trips of the day to the bathroom as she ordered her fix. Dirty, greasy, grubby clothes; increasingly she's taking on the look, (& smell), of the homeless ne'er-do-wells she'll screw for a cold hamburger. Or used to - the down & outers have higher standards.
Her comments are turned off "to keep my peace of mind". What 'peace' is possible in the turbulent chaos that passes for her thought processes? Whatever it is, she may firmly & furiously pronounce she's gonna do what she wants, (eat), when she wants, (constantly) & doesn't want calorie counts, suggestions, critiques or any other pesky hints of the reality those living in this universe are prone to offering. Yup, really convincing us of her convictions there.
She's promising a week of story times to go with the ghastly sight of her feeding frenzies. She's run out of stories so we'll get nothing more than a clumsy rehash of already bullshit stories. It may be somewhat amusing to see what inadvertent cross overs end up coming out of her sauce stained lips.
She enjoys talking. She's only capable of her faux confident yammering when she's not forced to engage in real conversations; when she doesn't have to follow basic social niceties such as refraining from endless discussion of her farts, sharts & false starts.
Bibi - that whole going over to enjoy a dish prepared by the man himself is bullshit. Even if he wasn't heartily sickened by her clumsy attempts to force a Round 2 in their failed relationship, he's too paranoid about CoVD to let her near the place. Early on in the pandemic, he was spraying down everything in sight if it came through the door & I doubt he has enough Lysol spray to totally blanket Chantal with a layer of disinfecting spray.
Finally, the next 6 days promise a welcome break from the recent bitter cold, windy weather. By early afternoons, every residential neighborhood will be full of warmth & sun starved Leafs taking to the outdoors. Joggers are slowly starting fitness programs to lose the pandemic poundage they put on before shorts & t shirt season. As they pass by each other, rueful smiles & short waves will be exchanged. Moms will be walking to & from schools picking up kids excited to get outside. Young couples & seniors & some in between will be strolling arm in arm - briskly or leisurely as they're inclined, happily greeting people, (from a safe distance), they may not have seen in months. For most, this is the start of Happy Season, with eager planning for an increase in outdoor activities that relax & refresh.
Not Chantal. She's so food addled, she'll be oblivious to the promise of a new season bursting with life - too buy bursting with rage against the growing number of people that simply refuse, REFUSE to see things they way she so desperately wants them to see minor matters involving health. You know, little things like diabetes & out of control weight, such a high of blood clots she's on anti-coagulants for like, fatty liver disease, asthma & Lord knows what else.
Not for her, this insane notion of restricting her food intake in any way. Hell no. Instead, she's going to restrict everything else, all that truly matters in life. While people are, without thinking about being able to walk 20 feet without gasping, out enjoying the fresh air, sunshine & increasing signs of new life, she can only contemplate not being able to walk a half block while arm in arm with a shopping bag full of Ben & Jerry's Purple Hurple ice cream. Her biggest fear? Squashing the container flat & ruining it when she falls on it because her balance point is so screwed.