I went to lunch today, as it was a Thursday and a good day to go to lunch, only to find my stomach growling louder than usual. After much deliberation and soul searching, I chose to eat at the local grocery store’s deli, entrusting my stomach, my bowels, and my diet to food that had sat in a warmer for the past three to six hours.
One chicken thigh, leg and serving of steamed vegetables later, my monster was defeated and my stomach stopped growling. My vegetable intake was still low however, so I decided to take it a step further, and get a salad from their opulent salad bar. Two cups of spinach, a handful of ham, pepperonis, a pickle, some broccoli and cauliflower later my salad was the equivalent of the Taj Mahal of salads, only to be surpassed by a salad meal at a five star restaurant.
I returned to work with my bounty in hand, ready to make it through the rest of the day with my feast by my side, only to be thwarted by the most mischievous of all thieves…my husband. I stopped by his desk to give him a soda I had picked up, and as I was grabbing the bag to put the salad back inside (salad had been on top of the soda) my husband picked up the salad and looked at me with those damn blue eyes and said “You got me lunch? I love you” and proceeded to stare into the delicacy that had been my salad.
What could I do, with such hope and love in his eyes, but go grab my bacon ranch dressing that was nestled lovingly in the fridge, and a fork out of the utensil drawer, and bring them to him. If that salad is the one thing that gets him through the night, then it was worth it I suppose…after all, there is always lunch tomorrow.