I wonder who the brilliant soul was who came up with the idea to dress food preparation people (cooks) and food distribution people (servers) in black? Those employed in the food business have historically worn white and that’s what we eaters expect. Even cartoonists depict chefs, cooks, and bakers dressed in white. Let’s see who is it that they know we’ll recognize in black? The first two professions that come to mind are morticians and clergy, and I’m not sure I want that image in my mind while I’m eating.
Some of my older male friends question my habit of making my bed every morning. “You’re just going to mess it up again tonight,” they say, “Why go through all that bother?” Others tell me that they just “straighten” the bed up. I make it every day and I’ll tell you why. (You knew I would.) If you’re my age, you remember your mother worrying about you being in an accident when you were a child. She was worried about your wellbeing, but also about what you were wearing; especially underwear. She didn’t want the medics ripping your clothes off to save your life only to find that you had raggy underwear on. What would the doctors think?
I figure if I’m out and get hit by a car, end up in the hospital, and can’t get home, people will come to my house looking for personal things. I don’t want them to say, “Oh, look at that messy bed!” I want them to say, “The house is messy, but, boy look at that neat bed!”
I also understand that there are those among you who are saying, “This guy’s nuts!”
If you live alone, you will probably understand this; if someone else is frying your hamburgers, you may not. I’ve been going through a series of different eating styles. For a couple of months I’ll buy healthy food at the stores and whip up delicious, good-for-you foods. Then I’ll go through a period of time where I hit the frozen food shelves and dine on pizza and pot pies. Then I’ll hit a period of eating out, saying, “Yeah, I know it’s not good for me, but I’m tired of cooking and doing dishes.” I have a sort of food personality disorder. Right now I’m in frozen food mania. I buy three pizzas on sale and they’ll last for quite a while. If you cut a 12-inch pizza in eight slices, you can eat it in two-slice entrees four times. I learned to warm them up in a frying pan (the green one) on low for a crispy presentation. Then you can alternate on-sale frozen pot pies. I wonder what my digestive system is thinking? “Oh, man, we’re on the frozen food kick again; let’s send him a message.”
We are entering the Christmas Season. What am I going to do about cards? Each year I decide not to send any, and then at the last minute I break down and get out the list and go to work. This year I’ve decided not to send any: we’ll see how that turns out. (I’d say “I’ll keep you posted,” but that would be pretty lame.) Help a widowed person put up decorations this week.
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