Mrs. Hillbilly Mom is a taker. It's true. I heard you all recoil and gasp in shock. I know it's hard to believe. But I am. A taker. A taker of lunch.
I never know quite what I want to take. It must be something simple. Something that does not require a lot of prep time pre-taking, nor a lot of making-edible time post-taking. Something that will not dirty my microwave at school. Something that will not dirty the work togs of Mrs. Hillbilly Mom. Something without offensive odor that leads to my lunch companions talking about me when I get up from the table. Something that can be comfortably consumed at 10:53 a.m., in about 18 minutes.
For two weeks, I have been taking a sandwich of deli turkey on whole-wheat English muffin. With mayonnaise, of course. None of that sweety-sweet-sweet Miracle Whip. The miracle is that I don't whip your butt, Miracle Whip, for ruining perfectly good mayonnaise.
Tomato-Squirter, my left-hand lunch buddy, used to have an irritating habit of commenting on my lunch. that's before we joined forces in our plot to regain our rightful lunch chairs from Jewels. I broke Tomato-Squirter of her bad habit by bringing a solid week of inedible lunches that I pretended were real. Things like sardines in mustard sauce with a peanut butter and marshmallow topping. A baggie of Meow Mix and Cocoa Puffs mixed together. Just before digging in, I would say, "Huh. That school lunch looks so good today. I think I'll go get that." Then I would close up my inedibles. Tomato-Squirter went so far as to actually pick up the baggie of my crunchy treat and open it. I snatched it back forthwith. "Oh, no you don't! That's MINE!" But that's another story.
On Wednesday, I had a headache. One that started in the evening, and persisted into morning, squeezing the area above my eyebrows until I wanted to squeeze it with a vice to lessen the pressure. On my plan time, I took an ibuprofen with a little bottle of Diet Mountain Dew. This will usually do the trick, but I did not want that ibuprofen eating its way through my stomach lining. I went to my mini-fridge and got out my sandwich. I didn't want to eat the whole thing. Just send some buffering agents down into my gullet. I unwrapped my sammie and ate the turkey hanging over the edge. Like gnawing kernels of corn off the cob. Then I put it back to wait for lunch.
Wouldn't you know it! Tomato-Squirter snagged her seat away from Jewels. She was up to her old tricks again. "Did you bite the meat off your sandwich?" She seemed bemused. Like I was a child hiding my Brussels sprouts under my mashed potatoes. Or a stand-up comedian stuffing mutton wrapped in Gramma Mimma's napkins into the pockets of my jacket.
"Yes. I did." Oh, there was so much more that I wanted to say. But I didn't. It wasn't worth starting my head to throbbing again. Really. Since when is it a crime to make your meat fit your bread? Is that frowned upon? Because if I'd known that, I would not have done it. So we can forget the whole thing.
I swear. Let me consume my lunch as I see fit. All at once, or in installments. Until my food is photographed every day for publication in a School Lunches Around the World calendar, there is no need to make it pretty.
Sweet Gummi Mary! It's not like I brought stinky fish or asparagus.