Lunch trauma
When your days of freedom are numbered and you've been on a restricted diet for six months, lunchtime at work tends to be a cherished event.

Today for me was no exception. I had leftover eggplant parmesan from the Macaroni Grill, where I dined Saturday night. The eggplant was awesome and I was looking forward to eating the rest of it today. (By the way -- a co-worker told me that eggplant induces labor. After eating it three times in the past week, I can say with certainty, IT DOESN'T.)

I heat up my lunch in the microwave and take the first bite. Hmm, I think. This seems a little bit chewier than I remember it. Maybe I over-nuked it. I take another bite and realize... it's freaking VEAL!

I don't eat veal. It skeeves me in the same way that eggs skeeve me. I can eat eggs as long as I don't think about what they really are. But veal, it's too hard for me to swallow, literally and figuratively.

So I enjoyed a delicious 6" turkey sub from Subway. A sketchy guy with huge cuts on his lip made it for me though. If I hadn't already been desperate, I may have refused to eat that, as well.

Then I found out that about five minutes after I left the kitchen to go to Subway, another department brought up four huge trays of subs, salads and cookies that were left over from some seminar they had.

It's just not my day, I guess. Not where food is concerned, anyway.