Death by Lunch Break

The last time I took a lunch break was roughly three and a half years ago. Overdeveloped work ethic? Martyr complex? Does it matter?

Yesterday I decided I was going to take a lunch break. I never do nice things for myself (because taking a lunch break is a real splurge) so I wasn't going to go too crazy, just pick up a sandwich from a new shop in town and bring it home to eat. I was desperate for a good sandwich. That is how pathetic my life is.

So at 11:30, I leave the confines of my home office and venture out. In public.

I enter the sandwich shop nervous because new things are intimidating for me. What if I don't know how to order a sandwich the proper way and everyone points and laughs? But I'm excited. I've been jonesing for a sandwich since before pregnancy.

I walk up to the counter.

"Yeah, we're not doing lunch today."

No good reason. This is the only day ever.

Of course it is.

Now I'm in a panic because I didn't account for needing a back up lunch plan. I buckle under the pressure and suffer from extreme unimagination (I think I just made that word up) and head to the local, crappy noodle shop. It's three feet from the sandwich shop, so naturally it's the only thing I can come up with on short notice.

Since it's now only 11:35, there is me and one other woman in the joint placing a to-go order.

Yep. They gave my order to other woman and I have to wait for them to make my order. Again.

This is why I don't leave the house. Lunch is a production.

For some odd reason, the noodle shop gives me her order and my re-made order so now I have all the food ever. I decide to take this opportunity to practice being a glass half-full girl and am pleased I now also have dinner for tonight.

After relaying the story of the Great Lunch Outing of 2011 to the nanny, my girlfriend, Michael and a neighbor I ran into on the street, I decide to laugh the whole thing off because it's just lunch for God's sake.

Except when you're me.

At 4:30 I eat one of the items I ordered -- tofu noodle crappiness. By 6:30, I realize something is drastically wrong with me.

That's right kids. Food poisoning.

Let's pause here for a moment to introduce two other relevant facts to this story:

• Michael is working late on this particular evening. Like 10 PM late. So I'm on my own.
• Ginger, the turd connoisseur, is having an extreme flare-up of arthritis and can barely walk.

Back to the story.

The Bean, thankfully, did not get the memo about Daylight Savings and I am able to put her down at 6:30. She's usually good to sleep until a dream feed at 11. So at least I can wallow in my food poisoning misery without also carrying a child around.

The puking commenced at about 7.

At which time, The Bean woke up and would lose her eyeballs every time I left the room.

The scene in my bathroom looked something like this:

All because I took a lunch break.