It was. Take my word for it. Mrs. Hillbilly Mom raked in the swag.
On Monday, we got cake. A whole sheet cake, half vanilla, half chocolate, with BUTTERCREAM FROSTING, Mabel! Not that poor excuse for frosting, that healthy whipped stuff that barely covers the cake and doesn't leave a film in your mouth. Mrs. HM has been cutting back. So as tempting as that cake was, she admired it from afar. And from nearer, reading the message that it was a token of appreciation from a local church. What a nice gesture! They do it every year.
Because a cake is a terrible thing to
"I'm really making a mess here. I'm taking this for my son. He LOVES buttercream icing."
"Here. You can fold the box down if you open up the corner."
"No. That's okay. I just want to get it and get down the hall before the bell rings and that class next to me goes to lunch. It's like a clown car letting out passengers. There must be 40 kids in there."
I'm sure that insurance rep thought, "Sure, that heifer is getting it for her son. She looks like she already ate a whole cake today." Or not. She was pleasant enough, but during our conference didn't seem to know what to do about changing my plan for retirement, and put in a call to our consortium coordinator (the one who takes 3.5 hour lunches so all you ever get is voice mail) to leave a message about what to do. That rep sure knew her way around a sheet cake, though. Anyhoo...I took that plate of a little cake and a lot of icing down to my mini-fridge, where The Pony was quite happy to unload it to T-Hoe after school.
On Tuesday, we got candy. Baggies of assorted hard candy, with Dum Dums and Jolly Ranchers and Tootsie Pops and I don't know what else, because I grabbed it out of my mailbox and rushed to my room and stuck it on top of my purse for The Pony so that I was not tempted to nosh on it.
On Wednesday, we got an assembly. Okay. It wasn't truly in honor of us, but the Future Cooks and Cleaning Ladies of America DID have a table set up in the gym for the teachers to grab some lemonade and snacks. It's the thought that counts. I did not go over there, because lemonade gives me heartburn, and I couldn't see walking a saved treat back to my room for The Pony.
On Thursday, the cupboard was bare, but about half the student body was gone on club trips. A reward all its own.
On Friday, we had a catered lunch provided by our building leader. He told us about it on Tuesday, so anticipation ran high. I even told The Pony. "I wonder what it will be? Maybe Pasta House! We've had it before. I love the pasta. I really shouldn't have it. I could just take a tiny bit of each. I could get a roll for you. No. I shouldn't have it. I'll regret it. But I can get some for YOU! What kind of pasta do you like? Oh, the red kind? Okay. I'll get a plate, then take it to my room. I'll bring a container to put it in. And a couple of rolls, you say?"
"Um. Remember? At conference night? I want as many rolls as you can get me!"
"Oh, yeah. Well. I think three would be pushing it. But I'll try. I don't really want them to know I'm getting it for you. But I don't see why I shouldn't have a share, even if I don't want to eat it."
"Uh huh. Get me as many rolls as you can."
"Wait! What if we DON'T get Pasta House? What if we get that BBQ place we had for Top Ten night? What do you want from there?"
"I don't want anything from there. I don't like it that much. They don't even have rolls."
"Okay. Who knows. He might just get us a subway sandwich. Do you want some of that?"
"No. Only if it's Pasta House."
So...Friday morning I packed my regular chicken breast sandwich, and a container and some baggies to hold rolls. With people in and out all week, those trips, and make-up testing for the ACT and EOC, I did not have time to inquire about the source of our free lunch.
Imagine my disappointment when I walked into the teacher workroom and saw a spread that did not register. What in tarnation WAS that? A buffet of sorts, two big foil pans, a myriad of round cardboard containers at the end...Was it Chinese? A Chinese buffet?
It was Qdoba.
I don't have anything against Mexican food. Do I not make myself Super Nachos several times a week? But this did not look in the least bit appealing. There was a stack of two sizes of tortillas. A foil pan of black beans. A foil pan of diced chicken. A foil pan of diced beef. Lettuce. Cheese. Onions. A selection of salsas. Several guacamole tubs. No. I just wasn't feeling it. Not that I planned to have it anyway. I was holding my just-heated chicken sandwich plate in my hand.
"Huh. That does not look appealing." I knew The Pony would want nothing to do with it.
"You may not. But I LOVE IT!" Said Pinky. Now one of the first lunch crew who should make sure to leave enough for other lunch shifts, who want to eat, too.
"More for you, then! Wait. I think I'll take some of that chicken. I can put it on my super nachos tonight."
"There you go! That works, too."
So I went through the line and put a pile of diced chicken on my plate, right next to my sandwich. I got a couple of looks at the lunch table, because I ate the sandwich and didn't touch the chicken. But I hot-footed it back to my room later, and put that chicken in the container. Then I sent a text to prepare The Pony.
"So sorry. The teacher meal was Qdoba. Mexican. I snagged some chicken for my nachos tonight. Nothing else looked appealing, even to me. It was a nice gesture, though."
After school, The Pony relayed his disappointment. "I took my lunch down to Mrs. Poor's room, and she was sitting at her desk eating a salad. I got all excited. I thought it was the Pasta House salad. Then I found out it was from Qdoba. She just filled her bowl with the beans and meat and stuff, and put lettuce on the top instead of making tacos. I was SO disappointed."
Let the record show that the diced chicken was acceptable on my super nachos, even if it did taste like the frozen Tyson Fajita Chicken soaked in taco sauce.