I am on a week-long husband holiday. I get to sleep in the middle of the bed, use up all of the hot water in the shower, and eat whatever I want for dinner. It’s like being back in college but with a house, a full-time job and responsibilities and without the drinking or late night pizza. So not quite as fun.
After work, I head out for a jog around the neighborhood. Flashing lights draw my attention towards a work crew of sunburned men. They look tired and dirty as they take down a power line with an end of the day carelessness that motivates me to run a little faster. Somehow getting electrocuted and spending the rest of my husband holiday in the hospital is not how I plan to spend this time.
Once home, I peel off my sweaty running shirt and drape it over the back of the couch. I can be a slob during my holiday week, but it doesn’t suit me. The thought of a perspiration soaked shirt on the furniture makes my skin crawl. Some people can’t stand spiders and beg for their death or removal, others get queasy at the sight of blood. Me, its dirty socks and laundry where it doesn’t belong. I can’t handle it regardless of if I’m on a husband vacation or not. I retrieve the shirt and carry it back to the bedroom to dry and makes its way to the laundry basket.
Now the cats need feeding and so do I. The thought of sampling their expensive kibble briefly crosses my mind. Its nutritionally balanced and even boasts of nutra-bits; whatever those might be, the whole shebang would be nourishing and so easy to prepare. However, the smell is too disgusting and the greasy, crummy residue left on my fingers after scooping out a serving is too gross to give more time to this as a possibility for dinner.
Instead of cat food, I go in for my old stand-by. Eggs. It’s been a long time since eggs were a main staple for dinner and the poor nutrition years comes rushing back. Scrambled, hard boiled, sunny side up, fried, burned, omletted, more often with a piece of shell than not, eggs got me through the lean, mean years and taste almost as good now as they did then. Survival food, it’s much better when eaten out of preference than necessity.
Counting down the days until my “vacation” is over because I’m sick of eating eggs, taking long luxurious showers, and sleeping alone in the middle of our big bed.