I'm of course talking about deciding what to eat for lunch.
Look, people. I sit in a closet. Literally. They took the doors off an existing closet and 'lo and behold, I've got my own personal work space. My desk isn't even a desk. It's a computer credenza. Lay two rulers end to end and one of them is falling off. Don't get me wrong - I wouldn't trade it for the world. It's my space. In Mommy Land this space is more valued than the bathroom at home. (read: my children cannot access this space. It is mine. It's all mine!)
I sit here for hours upon hours each week wondering if anyone knows my name. I've been called every name under the sun but mine: Heather, Rachael, Brittney. I had a meeting once with an attorney. A face-to-face meeting. As in I appeared before him in person. With no costume. And yet he referred to me in correspondence as Richard. And my therapist wonders why I have identity issues.
No one really knows or understands or cares to know or understand what I do at work. Big V will ask "so, how was work today?" and there's that little pause where I ask myself if he really wants me to explain how I researched the density debate, and what I argued regarding streetscape design, or how franchises can be considered a viable option for distressed areas and how communities don't have to sell out for oversized tacky buildings but rather impose design controls through ordinances to retain neighborhood character.
I lost you at density, didn't I? Don't worry, it happens all the time.
So you understand how unbelievably important lunch is, right? It's a topic I can talk to with anyone. Everyone. Heck, we all like to eat, right? Except for those crazy health fanatics that only eat kale and Sprouted Whole Grain Cereal and work out seven days a week, but I'm not really friends with those kind of people. Not because I have anything against them, it's just hanging around them makes me feel like a sloth. Or sloth-like. Which I suppose is essentially the same thing and basically means that spending time with really healthy active people reminds me that I want to take a nap.
But, lunch. Lunch! That is the purpose of my work day! The reason I wake up in the morning. The reason I can't get my hair done on a regular basis because I choose to spend my hard earned money on food regardless of our paycheck-to-paycheck status. But I digress (for the thirtieth time in this post....).
Today I had no idea where to go. It was one of those six-year old but I don't wanna figure it out kind of things. I had stopped off at our local deli located in the only grocery store in town and stared at the case. Chicken? Nope. Not doing it for me. Pot Roast? Nah. Potato Casserole? Not sure what that all entails, but it looks kind of greasy. Nothing was jumping out at me. That is until two of the coolest people in the world jumped out at me!
"Are you here for Taco Tuesday?" "You've gotta try Taco Tuesday!"
What the heck is Taco Tuesday?
This is Taco Tuesday:
Two big ole' tacos filled to the brim with fresh lettuce, red juicy toamatoes, lots of cheese, and my second reason for living: sour cream. On my way back to the office I worried it wouldn't be enough to fill me up... then I saw the lights from Heaven beaming down on our local Burger King sign which called out to me in big, bold, block lettering: CINNABON CHEESECAKE and I decided that God, Himself, wanted to ensure I had a successful lunch experience, so I washed those two bad boys down with this little slice of heavenly sweetness:
Thank you, Jake and Heidi,
for making sure I made the right choice today.
Life is so good.