I-I-I-I ate too moishe

Ow.

I ate so much.  I'm not even Christian.  Why do I eat so much at Easter Dinner?

I was doing really well until the desserts came out.  I apparently cannot resist the cookies.  I had some of the lemon tart, and some of the fruit tart, and then.. the cookies were looking at me.  I could resist the Cadbury eggs, and the cupcakes.  But not the cookies.

And here I am with a bellyache and only myself to blame.  Well, myself and Christine.  She makes a mean lasagna.  In some households this might not be traditional Easter food, but apparently in an Italian household, you eat lasagna.  There was ham too, and lamb for that matter, but I love me some lasagna.  And asparagus.  I don't care if it makes your pee funny, I love asparagus.

Anyway I did stuff other than eat, today.  Tara wanted to meet to ride, and shockingly I wasn't hurting from jogging or riding by this morning, so I went out to meet her.  And man, did it get hot.  Like, sweating, headaching, nauseating hot.  Hot enough that eventually when Pluto didn't want to trot, I didn't have the gumption to make him.  Tara decided to lead us on patterns through the arena and we did that for a while.  Cutting my brain out of the equation for a while helped.

I drank two liters of water after that and still felt kind of dehydrated.  My clothes were soaked through.  (I know, sexy.  Middle aged sysadmin wringing wet with sweat really does it for me too.)  For some reason our tap water is tasting soapy today so I've been drinking up our supply of sparkling water.  I hope the tap is unsoapy by tomorrow because I don't have much sparkling water left.

Oh, anyway, so the horse?  Before my attack of heat prostration hit, I asked him to do a bunch of figure eights at the trot, and I asked him to canter and keep cantering.  You could feel the shockwaves go through him when he realized I wanted him to keep going.  Eventually he kind of drifted into a trot, and then a walk.  I wore my horse out!  Sort of.  I at least made him less enthusiastic.

Maybe next time I'll actually remember the flavored snaffle bit I keep meaning to take out, and he'll like it, and I'll actually have some, like, steering.  And brakes.

In honor of Easter Dinner, please sing along with the "I ate too moishe" song.