Bagged Lunch Baggage.

It’s nice to see all of you again. You haven’t changed one bit.

I trust that the past several weeks have worked out beautifully for you and humbly apologize for my propensity to get sidetracked and forget that just because I’m not thinking about my blog does not mean it doesn’t exist. It’s very reminiscent of my sophomore year of high school, during which I temporarily forgot I was taking Algebra II because it was Spring and the sun was shining and I needed to be tan by Spring Break.

Speaking of Spring Break, why is it that adults don’t get one? The florescent lights atop my cubicle at the frat house are slowly frying my retinas and driving me to drink.

Which is unfortunate, given that keeping a bottle of Jack under your desk at a Baptist church is generally frowned upon.

And while we’re talking about food, if I weren’t too cheap to quit I’d be just about ready to give up on the whole “bagged lunches” idea. Don’t get me wrong, I love to cook-…just not at six thirty AM. I know, I know. PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER, ASHLEY. IT’S A BAGGED LUNCH-NOT VIETNAM. But you’ve got to understand that at six thirty AM, you’re more likely to find me rummaging through the neighborhood recyclables than you are to engage me in any form of intelligent conversation, much less find me being creative with healthy foods.

Though actually, I suppose that hinges on what your definition of “healthy” is. My definition includes Nutella.

Every morning in a dazed stupor, I stumble into the kitchen to make my lunch-which given the fact that I routinely forget to go to the grocery store looks something akin to one of those bizarre Quick Fire Challenges on Top Chef. Except this doesn’t so much involve making a canapé in forty seconds using Brie and chilled lobster tail so much as it involves what kind of sandwich I can make using no bread or lunch meat or cheese. If not for a few rather questionable lettuce leaves and single triangle of Laughing Cow cheese I discovered on happenstance at the eleventh hour, all would have been lost last Wednesday morning.

Though caffeinated, pencil-skirted, hungry Ashley didn’t find anything humorous about the aforementioned cheese triangle six hours later at lunchtime that day. “Maniacally Taunting Cow” might have been more appropriate.

A wise woman might wander downstairs right now to pre-pack a healthy, creative lunch before drifting off to sleep. But like Scarlett O’Hara, I’ll think about that tomorrow.