This morning, determined to be to work by 7am AND to have some real food, I left a note out for myself saying:
And then I got the toaster out. And made my lunch. And made sure my travel mug was clean for coffee.
Then I went to bed.
The next morning, I get ready, I pop some waffles in and run all my stuff out to the car. (To the men reading this: yes, this is all monumentally important.) I come back, put a little pb&j on my waffles, grab my Kuerig’d coffee (that is SO a verb!) and head for the door. I have my keys. I have my waffles. I have my coffee. I have on a clean shirt.
But no, that is not what happened.
What happened was, I had my paper plate with waffles with scrumdidlyumptious sticky soft pb&j on them in my left hand. I try backing into the storm door but I can’t open it with my hip---go figure—and reach with my right hand across my body and ever…..so….slightly…CLIP the paper plate. I watched in slow mo and utter silence (it’s 6:40am, I’m the only one up) as my waffles flip and fly OFF of my plate towards the floor. One face up, next to my sister’s muddy boots. One face down on the throw rug.
I stare at them for a long moment, frozen.
Then something in my brain is screaming:
5 second rule!! 5 SECOND RULE!!!!! MOVE dammit!!
I quickly set keys and coffee on the table before crouching to examine the situation. One that landed face-up is a no-brainer and goes back on the plate. The one that landed face-down I pick up gingerly and cringe as I rotate it for inspection.
Hmmmmmm. Well, no animals live here, I thought, so that’s not a problem, no chance of animal hair.
Now, people wipe their FEET on this rug and shoes are the absolute filthiest things on the planet. I still don’t see anything….wait, a 1 inch long hair hanging on the very edge of it….got it! I squint. Time is quickly passing and I have to get to work. I shrug and head out the door.
I get in the car and pause again, looking and looking I elect to lift a single black dot off with a fingernail (realizing a second later that it’s a strawberry seed from the jam I put on it). Ok, now you’re being ridiculous! You’re pulling stuff off that is not even there!! I think and put the car in gear.
I eat the one that fell face-up, but when left with the face-down one, I’m still indecisive.
You don’t have much money and these waffles, peanut butter and jam cost money dammit! Just eat it!!
Dad wipes his SHOES on that rug. Every time he comes in from smoking. Every. Time.
DON’T DO IT!!
If you were a child in Ethiopia, you’d eat it without thinking (mostly because everything there is covered with dirt, if the pictures are any indication, so what difference does it make?)
It literally wouldn’t be an option.
It would be CRAZY not to eat this, because I’d be starving for God’s sake.
Would I even know what a waffle WAS if I were in Ethiopia?…..
You’re driving and eating already, no tangential thinking!
I took a bite.
I nearly gagged chewing and swallowing it. Each bite got easier.
I kept thinking about that nameless Ethiopian kid and kept chewing.
|REAL child from Ethiopia! Beautiful eyes! How do I get her some waffles??!|
Moral of the story: I didn't die from eating a waffle that hit the floor.