They say fish have memories that last only three seconds. That’s about three times as long as my memory.
We, meaning my wife and I, have been trying to get me to start taking my lunch to work in order to save money. It sounds odd that I should have to try to get myself to do something. I need to have Yoda telling me: “Do or don’t do. There is no ‘try.’”
I do try, though. This morning, I took my lunch box out of the refrigerator, added a couple of items to it, and then walked out the door leaving it on the kitchen table to spoil. I don’t know how that happens.
Taking my lunch to work only saves money if I actually take it. Making it and not taking it costs more money.
A week ago, my wife wrote a note for me to remember my lunch. She attached the note to my eyeglasses so I could not put my glasses on without seeing the note; this was my own idea. The next morning, I read the note, removed it from my glasses and walked out the door leaving the note on the table and the lunch still in the refrigerator.
I’m not sure what the problem is. Here are the choices: A) I’m distracted by shiny objects. B) My goldfish brain isn’t getting enough oxygen. C) I’m still asleep when I leave the house in the morning. D) I don’t really want to take my lunch to work. E) All of the above.
Most of our married life, my wife was a waitress, so I would eat lunch every day wherever she was working. This was not a jealous husband keeping tabs on his wife; this was a cheap husband knowing that every cent of my tip was coming back into my own house. Plus, Penny was a really good waitress, and I am a really challenging customer. I like to have things a certain way, and my wife would take good care of me. I don’t like my foods to touch, I use a lot of butter and I’m repulsed by lemon wedges on my tea glass.
One of my pet peeves is when you tell the waitress “no lemon” and she brings you a glass that had been prepared with a lemon wedge, and she just pulled the lemon off of it. Like I can’t taste the lemon in the tea. Like I can’t see the seed floating in the bottom of the glass. But, I can’t tell the waitress that I want a fresh glass.
Instead, I pout.
I know, I know. Don’t judge me. We all have our quirks. (One of) mine happens to be iced tea that’s been violated by a lemon wedge. If the waitress can’t be upfront about that, what other shortcuts is she taking? How can anyone function in such a state of distrust? The waitress/customer bond has been severed. Severed, I say. It’s irreparable. Oh, I’ll still tip her. Tip her over. That’s what I’d like to do. It makes me mad to taste lemon in my tea when I wasn’t expecting any.
Where were we? Oh, taking my lunch to work. So, it’s just a habit for me to dine out at lunch. I don’t like fast food, but I can scout out every $5 plate lunch special in town. And really, can you pack a lunch for $5? A hot, wholesome meal? OK, probably, especially when the restaurant adds $2 or more for an iced tea. And then it probably has lemon juice on it.
Tomorrow, I resolve to take my lunch to work. No, wait. Tomorrow is no good. That’s $5 fried chicken day over at the Blue Hair Café. I resolve, the day after tomorrow, to take my lunch to work. Maybe. Hopefully. We’ll see.