A decision had to be made about dinner. The question wasn't "what to have to eat" or "where to go", but whether or not to recognize dinner (or as some like to call it, "supper") as a member of the meal "family."
In this time of economic uncertainty, cuts have to be made. Light bulbs have been removed from lighting fixtures in rooms within eyesight of a window, the furnace has been turned down to a comfortable 41 degrees, and laundry time and bath time have been combined in an effort to save water. The next logical cut is meals.
I hate making decisions, so I left it up to fate. Fate is another word for a game I like to play called "Rock, Paper, Scissors." For those that do not know what this game is, stop reading, as the rest of this post will make no sense to you at all. I hope you enjoyed the first paragraph. Next time I will write about something you will understand.
As it came time to do the countdown, I explained, "Winner decides who gets to decide." (makes sense, right?) We placed our palms out, closed fists atop ready to bang three times down to let the god of Rock, the god of Paper and the god of fine cutlery battle it out. To say tension saturated the air is to overstate a bit.
"Ready?" I exclaimed.
"One, Two, Three." With Each chant of the number our fists pounded our palms, awakening the gods.
My hand dropped on my palm on "Three." I went with the old standby, rock. Rock seldom lets me down. Good ole rock!
I looked across to see what I was up against. I was astounded. My head tilted in bewilderment. My eyes focused, and refocused again. I saw my opponents thumb neatly tucked into their palm with fingers evenly separated perpendicular to their open hand.
"Is that a four? Four doesn't beat anything. Four doesn't even belong in the game. Get out off my porch, you don't get a few minutes of my time to share your "good news." I'm keeping the magazine though."
Decisions are hard to make.
I hope my friend doesn't mind that I decided to siphon all the gas out of his pickup.
In this time of economic uncertainty, cuts have to be made. Light bulbs have been removed from lighting fixtures in rooms within eyesight of a window, the furnace has been turned down to a comfortable 41 degrees, and laundry time and bath time have been combined in an effort to save water. The next logical cut is meals.
I hate making decisions, so I left it up to fate. Fate is another word for a game I like to play called "Rock, Paper, Scissors." For those that do not know what this game is, stop reading, as the rest of this post will make no sense to you at all. I hope you enjoyed the first paragraph. Next time I will write about something you will understand.
As it came time to do the countdown, I explained, "Winner decides who gets to decide." (makes sense, right?) We placed our palms out, closed fists atop ready to bang three times down to let the god of Rock, the god of Paper and the god of fine cutlery battle it out. To say tension saturated the air is to overstate a bit.
"Ready?" I exclaimed.
"One, Two, Three." With Each chant of the number our fists pounded our palms, awakening the gods.
My hand dropped on my palm on "Three." I went with the old standby, rock. Rock seldom lets me down. Good ole rock!
I looked across to see what I was up against. I was astounded. My head tilted in bewilderment. My eyes focused, and refocused again. I saw my opponents thumb neatly tucked into their palm with fingers evenly separated perpendicular to their open hand.
"Is that a four? Four doesn't beat anything. Four doesn't even belong in the game. Get out off my porch, you don't get a few minutes of my time to share your "good news." I'm keeping the magazine though."
Decisions are hard to make.
I hope my friend doesn't mind that I decided to siphon all the gas out of his pickup.
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