I think I'm turning española, I think I'm turning española, I really think so....

What makes me say that, you ask?

Reason One. I have a wedding next weekend and I am determined to match. Exquisitely.

Shoes, dress, bracelet, earrings, purse, necklace, scarf, shawl... All must be simply made for each other and together they must create a truly self expressive me. No matter how I feel wearing all of this next Saturday, the quest for incredibly complementary elegance has been its own entertainment. Not to mention the bride's periodic SMS check-ins to see if I have a "modelo" yet.

Reason Two. Despite Reason One, I have yet to head out to the stores a single day this week. It's been rainy. And windy, and cold.

What happened to the Chicagoan who walked anywhere in rain, sleet, snow and 10 below Fahrenheit cold?

You want me to go out in the rain? I live in Spain. It will be sunny some day soon. And that's the day I'll go shopping.


Reason Three. I'm not sure I can eat without bread.

I caught on to the bread addiction while staying at Oxford in August. I noticed that everyone round the table was eating quite properly, knife and fork in hand, buttered bread patiently waiting on its own little plate. Everyone, that is, except an Italian woman and me. We both had a fork in one hand and a chunk of butterless bread in the other, as we scooped and pushed and spread and soaked our way to satiated bliss.

Two years in Spain have made bread my third utensil. How, exactly, does one pick up food without bread?

I gave up bread a month ago as part of a firm commitment to lose the weight I gained sitting around with a sprained ankle last spring.

And the benefits doubled immediately. Not only do I not eat bread, I'm not eating most of my meals, either.

How can I, without my third utensil?