The Brown Bag Lunch

Ooops! Yesterday was one of those rare days when The Man forgets to take his lunch to work with him. I notice the packed brown bag left on the counter after he has gone to work. Not wanting him to realize at the last minute that he has no lunch, I call him. “Oh, darn,” he says.

I don’t want him to go without lunch, of course, but I know My Man better than to suggest that he go OUT for lunch. That would not only cost Good Money, but it would take 20 minutes away from his lunch hour sheepshead game. The Man has his Priorities.

“Why don’t you ask The Guy At Work who buys his lunch at Karl’s Market if he would bring you a something for lunch,” I suggest.

So the Man says to me - believe it or not - he says, “I can’t buy my lunch there. It’s too greasy.”

Whatta hoot! How dumb does he think I am? Like he EVER thinks a thing about the amount of fat in his food. I know that he’s either just being his usual tightwad self or his usual picky self about the food he eats. So I say, “What does Your Guy At Work buy at Karl’s Market when he goes there and brings back lunch?”

“Something like chicken and mashed potatoes and gravy,” he replies.

Grease? Fat? Like he wouldn’t eat chicken and mashed potatoes and gravy at home? Like I never make a roasted chicken and gravy and mashed potatoes for The Man Who Only Wants Food That Reminds Him Of The Fifties?

It is clear. He just wants what he always has for lunch: a sandwich Made By ME and a couple pieces of fruit, one of which must be A Quite Ripe Banana. He has often told me that no one can make a sandwich as good as mine. Yeh, right. Of course, he is picky about that sandwich. Here’s the list of allowable sandwich fillings: Oscar Mayer bologna (a personal favorite), chicken or turkey (preferably from one I’ve roasted at home), liver sausage (Usinger’s braunschweiger prefered), or ham salad. A real sandwich is ALWAYS made with Miracle Whip and a very small, single leaf of lettuce (preferably iceberg) is allowed. So does this sound like A Man Who Is Picky About The Fat In His Diet? I don’t think so.

“Well, I just wanted to let you know that you forgot your lunch,” I say. “I’m just leaving to walk.”

“How long will that take?” he quickly asks. “Will you be back in time to bring my lunch to my office before noon?”

Now, I have made lunch for The Man EVERY day of his lengthy working life. Let’s see: that’s 11,040 bagged lunches. (I actually just figured that out – 46 years at about 240 days per year. He’s never sick and for many years he had little vacation.) But I have to admit, the income from The Man’s Amazing Work Ethic has given me a mighty fine life. What’s a Good Woman to do?

I walk. I take him his lunch.

Stirring the Pot