I’ve never been a fan of lunch―mostly because the lunch lady that ran the kitchen at my elementary school and her fingerprints. She was nice enough, I suppose. I mean I don’t have any strange or scary memories of run-ins with her or any one of the women who made my midday meals, Monday through Friday, September through June, year after year … but … she did leave a lasting impression (so to speak) on me and literally shaped the eating habits that have stuck with me all these years―at least when it comes to lunch.
Yes, because of the lunch lady, I hate sandwiches. I prefer goulash over peanut butter and jelly, meatloaf over ham and cheese, spaghetti over turkey on rye. Truth be known, I don’t eat any kind of sandwich and haven’t since that fateful day in second grade when I looked at the sandwich on my lunch tray only to see the indents left by the lunch ladies fingerprints. Gross. Right?
And so, to this day, I still find lunchtime a challenge … thank God for salads. And goulash, of course. Yea, yea, so this isn’t really an ode, or a poem of any kind, but I’m working on limited time here … I need to go make my kids lunches, so they don’t have to (gasp) end up with a potentially life-altering sandwich from the (insert drum roll) lunch lady.
Cover image created with Goggle AI.
DISCLAIMER: I’m a writer and an editor. And I try my best to make sure every post is articulate and free from errors. However, being that I edit my own work—and it’s next to impossible to properly edit your own work—I admit, occasionally there may be an error or two I miss. But doing so doesn’t make me an idiot so don’t be mean. Just smile, pat yourself on the back for finding an error and be glad you’re not the only one who makes mistakes sometimes … xoxox
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