Yesterday morning I woke up, stumbled out of bed, looked at myself in the mirror and screamed a little. It was not pretty: pasty skin, mascara in unlikely places and hair sticking out at funny angles. Saturday night was great. Sunday morning? Not so much.
My gut reaction to the Sunday morning mirror scare is to hide under the covers and ignore the rest of the world. Which is not a bad idea in theory, but in practice my head starts to hurt if I stay horizontal too long. Also, it doesn’t solve the problem. Inevitably my growling stomach forces me back into the real world after a while. By then, I am usually so hungry I have no problem devouring a day’s worth of calories in snacks deciding “what to have for breakfast”.
Obviously, my natural reactions need suppressing and I am always on the look-out for effective Sunday morning blah-reducers. Deb’s German oven pancakes are good. Fresh bread with good cheese isn’t half bad. But my favorite one so far? Orange-carrot juice. Ever since I had my first taste, it is what I crave when my body needs a bit of help. It tastes bright enough to put the spring back in my step, yet mellow enough not to offend. It is sweet but not too and with every sip I can feel the vitamin C fighting whatever toxins the previous night threw at me.
Not unimportantly, making orange-carrot juice is something I can handle on a fragile morning. Rinsing and chopping up a few organic carrots, skinning an orange or two: that I can do. Add a juicer and a bit of arm-action and -bzzzzz- greatness. The only thing standing between this drink and Sunday morning perfection? Someone in my apartment grateful enough to share that he will clean the juicer. And the sticky counter. And the juice-stained floor. Yeah, no Saturday night has been that great yet.
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