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spilt milk and invasive corn

September 20, 2011

Don’t cry over spilt milk.

 I hate that idiom.  I think there are times when it’s perfectly acceptable to cry over spilt milk.  How can you just issue a blanket statement like that?  What if you or your child is starving to death, and you have no money and no other option, but you are given a jug of milk…which you proceed to drop.  What then?

 I guess what I’m saying is that depending on your level of stress and the particulars of your situation, little things like spilt milk can be a big deal.  Or at least, they can feel like a big deal.

 Sunday night, after a weekend filled with everything but rest, I had Chance place a Chipotle order online.  I picked it up on my way home from the gym…which was on my way home from PetSmart…which was on my way home from getting my hair ‘did in Grapevine…which was on my way home from the grocery store.  You get the picture—that’s what my life looks like these days.  I need to establish one thing: I LOVE Chipotle.  It is my food of choice, in any and every situation.  I could eat it every day for the rest of my life and be perfectly content.  Sadly, it had been about two weeks since my last burrito bowl, and I was really looking forward to it.  Very, very much.  By the time I got home with the food, I was tired, hungry, and ready to wind down and enjoy my gourmet Mexican burrito bowl.

 So you can imagine my dismay when I uncovered my burrito bowl to find that my order was wrong.  Corn!  There’s corn in my bowl!  And where’s my salsa verde?  It was not my burrito bowl.  It wasn’t far from it, but it was not MY bowl.  I was quickly overcome by a wave of emotion.  Chance entered the kitchen to find me crying tears into the ill-fated bowl.  The more reasonable and logical part of my brain was shocked at the severity of my reaction—I felt as if I were floating above myself, watching this bizarre episode unfold, and unable to do anything about it.  As soon as Chance walked in, I began laughing.  Mostly out of shame, because in the logical region of my brain, I knew I was overreacting.  But I couldn’t stop the tears.  So Chance watched, softly repeating “Oh my” and shaking his head, as I laugh-cried hysterically over this farce of a burrito bowl.  It was literally an out of body experience. 

 The emotion left almost as quickly as it came.  I recovered, dried my eyes, and we jumped in the car to fetch MY burrito bowl.  I had been looking forward to it for a long time, you know?

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2 Comments leave one →
  1. Laura H. permalink
    September 21, 2011 1:10 am

    I would do the same thing. Hope the next Chipotle bowl is perfect. Miss you!

  2. Alex permalink
    September 24, 2011 4:42 pm

    Love how you write! I was laughing but also saying poor Catherine at the same time! Glad you went and got a new one. 🙂

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