For lunch yesterday I went to my acupuncture appointment. First thing the crunchy acupuncture woman does—after she puts on the pan flute music—is take my pulse. Turns out for acupuncture purposes, you have three different pulses. She held both of my wrists for a few seconds, and a perplexed look crossed her face. She began to speak, but I cut her off, knowing where she was going.
“I had a lot of sugar this morning,” I confessed. “A Rice Krispies Treat and a glazed devil’s food cake donut.”
“Ahhhhh,” she said. “That would explain it.” Then she stuck a bunch of needles in my tummy to counteract the effect. I fell asleep and dreamed of crayons.
Afterward, I went across the parking lot and bought one of those pre-made supermarket salads. This one had slices of breaded chicken breast on it. Back at my desk, I drenched it in Freedom dressing. No matter—it sucked. I complemented it with a container of Styrofoam chicken soup. While I ate, I read about racism on the information super highway.
When I was done, I noticed my bottle of Freedom dressing had expired a week ago.
This is a good lunch blog entry. You can disagree, but I don't know if it will get you anywhere.
