That I am.
Got sucked into ordering in lunch from a supposedly hit middle eastern sandwich/pita/gyro place in downtown along with the rest of the bunch o girls at work.
We ordered at 11.35 am.
It’s 1.22 pm.
Nothing’s here yet.
Girls are not sane anymore. Some have taken it well. Simmering in their cubes, plodding on with their work un-fazed. For the rest, our inner demons have been unmasked. The prowls have begun. The pretezel box is empty. Candy wrappers fill trash cans.
But everyone knows what happens to me once hunger pangs set in. Including the CEO. He just peeped into my cube and said loudly to no one in particular “So you haven’t yet pulled out your whip yet?” Sure, it’s funny, NOT! Especially not after not having much of a dinner last evening and a breakfast bar is all that’s pushing you along over the past 6 hours. Especially more so coz I have a gym-buddy who’s as a direct descendant of the Hitler, and has prodded me on to do 5 more minutes than my usual. I almost died on the floor.
Come back upstairs to find the darn lunches aren’t here yet.
Biding time. Counting seconds. Dreaming of yesterday’s lunch and tonight’s dinner [what with today being husband’s birthday, the gift I’ve decided is for him to have a nice dinner. One that I did not cook] and stopping myself from screaming at everyone I see, hear or ping.
Hallelujah. It’s here. Falafel pita. Looks like it’s had a tough ride out to me. Tastes good. That’s all that matters.
Sanity prevails. Yay.