The things you find stuck to the bottoms of sandwiches

15 02 2008

As a practicing Catholic, I observe Lent.  As is the tradition, I sacrifice things during the Lenten season and/or push myself toward different goals.  I keep them all in my mind, however, preferring to judge for myself whether or not things are being accomplished.  Among my choices for this year, I chose to forego the French Fries at the university eateries.  While I try not to make a habit of getting them in the first place, the rest of the food they serve is often disgusting in comparison.  As a result, I occasionally feel as though I’ve been cornered into getting them, when really it’s just that I’m usually not in the mood to try the ethnic experiments they usually serve.

Today is Friday.  I got a sandwich for dinner (meatless of course).  Pressed into the underside of the sandwich was, lo and behold, a French Fry.  I had already taken several bites before I noticed it was there.  How peculiar.  Clearly some telepathic person has a vendetta against me.  I’d like to know who that person is and ask them to leave my mind to myself.

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