Hi, Nutella? It’s Me, Ripe.

One of the reasons I like the hotel we stay at in Frankfurt each year is for its breakfast. After having been to Italy, I can say the breakfast doesn’t hold a candle to what one could eat over there, but I digress because it beats any runny eggs and crispy fat continental breakfast.

Mini croissants – warm
Granola – with cocoa bits
Cheese – soft, perfect for breakfast sandwiches
Meats – to make with said cheese sandwiches

Nutella – in jelly-sized packets

How I love thee.

I bring home a few each time I go there not because I didn’t know I could buy Nutella in the grocery store (we should all know that!), but because it’s heaven on wheels. Heaven on wheels! Got that? And it’s the perfect little size so as to feel like you’re not being a heif-heif by consuming it.

Before I left for the trip I was not eating much as I had been so busy at work (note: still busy) and because I was sick of eating crap.

Cue to the wine and beer and wine and champagne and fat-induced breakfasts that I consumed on a daily basis while away. Add to that the obligatory desserts and fabulous ice cream they sell at each of the exits of the convention center.

Hello, I’m Fatso, nice to meet you.

Now that I’m back, my clock is f-ed up. Up at 4:30 yesterday morning, up at 5:30 this morning and I feel that I should have already had my quiche Lorraine or caprese sandwich after my croissants with Nutella. In other words, I feel ready for lunch! But no, at 10:24am I’m eating peanut butter with a fork (already had the rest of my Nutella packet on toast when I woke up) and a banana and a latte…

I’m on the way to Fatsville and I want to turn back.

Please help!