It’s been fall break over in my neck of the woods. Us educators call this time, “Thank Baby Jesus We Made it to October”. I swear these breaks aren’t really for the kids, they’re for the teachers, for our sanity.
Every fall, since I can remember, we have gone to Apple Hill. Nestled between South Lake Tahoe and Sacramento, Apple Hill is a labyrinth of orchards, pumpkin patches, wineries, and family-owned farms, open to the public.
Apple Hill has always meant eat all the apple treats, drink all the cider, and buy all the crafts to me. You can’t bring enough money, because saying ‘no’ to your tenth caramel apple and a bunch of overpriced, homemade crap is impossible.
Since I’ve been a destitute teacher, I only buy the best of the best; no more hand-painted pumpkins and doilies for me. What is worth my money is this sign that I had to buy for my bathroom. I mean, there was no question.
I also wanted to buy every single candle from B&B Candles. Not only are they the most delicious, long-lasting candles I’ve ever purchased, the older gentlemen who sells them for his wife is the cutest. #supportgrandmaandgrandpa
“Cyser”: hard cider, mead, and honey. I had two. They were that good (I’m also a serious lightweight, and these bad boys were like 13%. You do the math). I didn’t capture my Chinese dinner, because I was drunk. What I did do was have a snorting, laughing fit in the Peking Duck, because apparently egg rolls are hilarious when you’re on a drunken, sugar-high binge.
This is an apple cider float. It was at this point that I began feeling my two days of absolute gluttony. When I bent over to tie my shoes, my apple treats and regret almost came up. My last words before my coma: “And…I now have diabetes.”
The whole ride home was spent trying not to throw up.
I went hog wild because Monday starts a new chapter. When people take pictures of the fat girl taking a selfie of herself eating baked goods, it’s time. Back on the wagon I go.
I’ll let you know how God-awful Monday after a break, on a diet, goes.