Last week, after a crazy day that involved getting up early for my CT scan and then taking Benedryl afterwards to help ward off any potential reactions to the contrast solution I found I was just too exhausted and groggy to cook. Normally we’d go out on such a night, but I also decided that I was too tired to even do that.
Obviously the only solution in times like these is to order delivery food. Living uptown, we fortunately have a pretty diverse set of restaurants and cuisines to choose from outside of the usual pizza delivery. This evening we ordered from Soho Chinese Bistro (they have the absolute best sesame tofu I’ve ever tried), the food was excellent, and it was definitely the right decision.
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What was odd, though, was what I did in the time between ordering and the arrival of the delivery guy. It seems that while I was too tired to cook or even drive to somewhere to eat, I wasn’t too tired to clean the kitchen in a frenzy. The front door to our townhouse opens into our kitchen, and I definitely didn’t want the delivery guy to come to the door and see it with a newspaper, morning coffee cup, soda can, unwashed Tupperware container, and my preschooler’s large purple backpack sitting on the counter.
I mean, what would he think? Sure, I know logically that he probably wouldn’t care or notice. But somewhere my subconscious brain thought differently. My brain knew instinctively that there’s a line here that I couldn’t cross, no matter how tired.
There’s a line between ordering delivery food because you’re so important that you’re just too tired or busy to cook. Maybe you even gave the cook the night off, I dunno.
It’s another thing altogether to just be so lazy and sloppy that you don’t care what your kitchen looks like and the only way you can eat is if someone brings food right to your door.
Especially with my blown vein on my left arm, the bruised vein on my right arm, and the IV bandage on my left wrist, I just knew this guy would go back to the restaurant telling everyone about the “junky dude in the filthy house”. He might even express concern in seeing a child’s backpack amongst the clutter. So I cleaned. And actually, as chance would have it, I saw the guy outside while I was taking the kitchen trash out so he never even made it to the door.
I bet he told folks that I timed meeting him outside so he wouldn’t see what a wreck the house was.