Everything has its point and counterpoint, though. Today I reveled in the counterpoint. I took a lunch break from Stanley.
He took a break from me, too. For thirty-four years, I have lived with a man who has requested to be placed in a closet filled to the brim with M&M’s during his last moments on earth. That wouldn’t even be in my top one thousand. It might even be toward the very bottom, or on that list of things I would never do ever. Ever.
So, there are moments in our lives when Stanley must go to the all-you-can-eat Pizza buffet and I must not. On those exquisite days, I grill me up a sharp-cheddar cheese sandwich on sourdough, garnish with organic local fruit from the farmer’s market and sit outside to enjoy.
When Stanley came home, I asked him which Pizza he liked best. He made some mumble-y pleasure noises and said that he had eaten too many types to choose just one. I was feeling pretty good, too.
Happy day to you.