"I like to eat salad for lunch."
I'm sure lots of vegetarians find themselves saying this to themselves and to others. I actually do like it, provided that it's an unnamed salad with many ingredients that includes at least one pickled vegetable, some crunchy nutty bits, peppered, and with no dressing.
The salad queue is often long near where I work, and I'm sure most of them are not driven to the habit by their realisation that a lunch could be had without having to hack open anything that's got eyes to watch you while you, through a butcher or fish selling guy, hack them open. I know this because many add octapuses to their vegetable cocktail.
Maniacal vegetarian philosophies aside, and before you start wondering what this has got to do with the title of this post, please indulge me in thinking back to your recent lunching experiences: how many times have you come across the recognisable corpse of an insect in your lunch? How many times have you come teeth to wings with a member of the buzzing race over lunch?
I was munching my nutty salad loudly 10 minutes ago while reading the
Dilbert Blog when via my infallible
peripheral vision I saw some movement on my recently emptied white plastic fork. Zooming in, I found a small winged creation casually strolling up the handle. I'm not sure that
Wingbo here realised the gravity of the situation that just passed, or the significance of the experience that we just shared. For a moment in the universe, there was only it, and me.
They say "if it don't kill ya, it'al makes ye stronga". Damn right! Meeting
Wingbo under these circumstances very nearly killed my
hygienic-a-freaked-out ass, I mean, head, and I'm sure we're both better off for not having had our relationship gone any further. More intense options such as sharing blood etc. would have been a bit too hasty, I think.
I can't give you a "post production catch-up" with
Wingbo: we parted ways from the moment I blew it off the fork and I don't expect that I'll be seeing it ever again. I don't carry any grudges though: I know that what we had was special, but that it had to end.
So much for venturing out into the unknown and trying a different salad place.