Name Your Poison

• Men in kilts. Because of my extensive image searching, Google thinks I’m a gay man. Hey, there’s no crime in enjoying book research, right?
• Chocolate. Seriously. Today I think I actually felt my blood crossover to diabetes. It’s my own personal brand of heroin. Only better. (No, I don’t know firsthand, but Edward Cullen was very convincing with this metaphor.)
• Shorts shopping. Last year I went with a friend. We decided there was no help in this lifetime and went out for fettuccine and dessert afterwards. We’re pinning all our future hot legs hope on reincarnation.
• Training for a race. I don’t do fast, but some moron put it on my bucket list. For every hour I run, I spend eight more whining about how much it hurts.
• Heels. Never mind that I hold onto the wall while I rock those heels, check ‘em out! No, I cannot walk in them, but they are wicked awesome.
• Produce aisles in spectacular supermarkets. The ones that carry everything. I’m talking good mangoes, apricots, perfect raspberries. Today I went from empty fridge, to jam packed fridge. It’s almost all fruit and vegetables too. Fruit. It’s what’s for dinner.
• Am not a mall shark, but I do have an unnatural attraction to lemon soap from The Body Shop or Bath and Body Works. If someone slams a door in this house, six heavy bottles of body wash fall off a shelf somewhere.
• Stories. The farmer who wants to tell me about the farm that used to be where my house is. A stranger who tells me he fought at Normandy. An elderly woman at the Dentist who showed me pictures of her dog and told me stories about it. I want to hear them all. This is why I get nowhere fast.

So what’s your poison? Tell me about your weak spot, your pet peeve, or what slows you down regularly. What does Google think you are? I’d love to hear about it!