A picture paints 500 words

J. and I are enjoying a glorious week in Vancouver. The weather is uncharacteristically gorgeous, not a cloud in the sky, and our hotel is well situated for my gout-slowed hobbling to the places we like to go.

As a bonus, we’ve arrived during the city’s annual food festival, Eat! Vancouver. Because of my food fetish, we had to go there first. Over three hours, we wandered from booth to booth, checking out food and drink samples, and chatting with purveyors as if we were well versed in food matters.

I am standing at the entrance to the event with a brochure for Eat! Vancouver covering my face.

Ah, what should I sample first?

In this picture, I am perusing the event itinerary. Unfortunately, you can’t see the broad grin plastered across my face. I was gleeful over the good food and new food ideas. That, and the fact that I drink coffee only on vacation, so I was uncharacteristically perky. Caffeine is quite the drug when you have it only occasionally, so I save my consumption for special occasions like this.

From that far away, despite the shorts, you can’t see the bruises on my legs. I make no effort to cover them up; they are my battle scars. You’ll see the footwear isn’t glamorous, but forget the lesbians-like-comfortable-shoes stereotype. Gout-ridden people need comfortable shoes. Oh well, I can’t always be a fashion statement.

In this shot, my little non-baby belly is more apparent than I’d like. This summer I’m trying to give up the Spanx (just kidding, don’t own any), instead just letting it all hang out. I am foregoing my belly-camoflauging shirts in a city of strangers, just working up to doing it at home. That’s me, the terrible role model for those clients with body-image issues.

I’m not having the greatest hair day but few hair days are when you don’t have much. Later that day, J. wouldn’t let me a check out a salon’s new product to slow thinning hair. She probably saved me money.

After reviewing the brochure with glee, J. and I made our way through the food booths, reading labels for sodium counts and, if I could, sampling. J. has no dietary restrictions but is very loyal on the low-sodium front, modifying our meals and watching her own intake, which she figures can’t hurt her. We were vocal about my dietary needs, letting purveyors know there’s a market for people like me. I indulged when I found something that was not sodium laden, and J. enjoyed the samples I couldn’t. Thank goodness most chocolate tends to be fairly low sodium–sea salt in chocolate? whose stupid idea was that?–so I gagged a few of those unsalted samples down.

It’s been a great trip so far, as J. has been supremely patient with my senior’s hobbling pace. I still haven’t scored my ramen but there’s time yet. Oh, and there’s this incredible French patisserie we discovered last time we were here, open 7 days a week. So off I toddle. As I recall, the tortoise won the race.

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