So, obviously not for the squeamish.
I had some gorgeous berry salad - blackberries, raspberries, blueberries - from the Fresh Market in the fridge that I got yesterday, and I’m trying to be sooo good and eat lunch at work and save money, right? 'Cause of all that making offers on houses. So I says, I says let’s take these beauiful berries for dessert! Along with the chicken salad, the Coke, and the trail mix for break, because I was in a real hurry and I leave early on Wednesdays anyway. So far so good.
So I get down to the staff room, and I tuck into my chicken salad, which was good, and I eat my berry salad, which was also good. And I get down to the last little raspberry, and I spear it with my fork, and pick it up, and what should be clinging to the bottom of it? An intruder.
A nasty, nasty intruder. With a lot of legs. A lot. It’s dead, of course, but somehow I’d almost prefer it to be alive than to be presented with a corpse. So I give it a shudder, but say, hey, at least I’m done so it won’t put me off the rest of my food. And I pack my lunch back up and spend the rest of my lunch break working on this mortgage question. And when I’ve got an appointment I call my mom, to see if she’ll come with me, for emotional support. And of course I tell her about the foreign invader in my lunch.
And she says, “Well, at least there weren’t any on the rest of it.”
And I said… pause… :eek:
Because, of course, there most certainly could have been. May have been. Dare I say, quite possibly were?
Oooh, I feel ill.
