Today was another long day at work. A good day, but a long day. Eleven and a half hours from when I left home to when I returned.
I changed into comfortable clothes lickety split.
Me (proactively): have you given any thought to dinner?
The historian: No. No, I haven't, except that we should probably go grab something. How about you? Have you given any thought to dinner?
Me: [minutes passed, as I was simultaneously filled with being famished and also despair...o! lord, give me strength in this the hour of my need to figure out where to get something to eat!]...how about if we go get pizza? A pepperoni one for Walker and a cheese one for us?
The historian: does that sound good to you? (possible mild incredulity)
Me: I will pile a lot of arugula on it. (decisive factor.)
So we chose the closest of two not-all-that-close Little Caesars (Pizza of the Lowest Common Denominator) and drove to it.
Me (getting into the car, proactively): do we have any ice? [please say yes please say yes]
The historian: No. No we don't. We'll have to go get some.
We picked up two pizzas. We planned the logistics of the way home, given our need for ice. We figured that if we turned right then turned left, we could pull into the Seven Eleven and pick up ice.
Me:...and we can get a drink.
Here's what I saw at the Seven Eleven in the one minute we were in the joint:
1. At seven p.m., the fountain drink situation is kind of sticky.
2. At the counter area, there are many new tobacco products that I am unfamiliar with.
3. Hella lotta tattoo magazines.
But the checkout guy was cheery and friendly, and I had a Diet Dr. Pepper/Regular Dr. Pepper mix to fortify me until we got home with our pizza, which I heaped arugula on. And ate three pieces of, and was restored.
That is all.