Wednesday. Apex of the curve that is the work week. I was to have Friday off. A short week. Friday. Wife day. The day I do the wifely things – even when I was single. I savored my alternating Fridays off to do those chores and errands that just cannot get done in the slim two hours after work-exercise-dinner-clean the kitchen. A robust and expansive whole Friday meant I could seriously clean the house. Skip jack through a series of in-town errands. Pick up dry cleanings, go to the chocolatier or the wine store or Dillards for *unmentionables*. You know, lady things. I say this in earnest and without sarcasm….I wish I had a wife. It is a resource so grossly underestimated. I juggled being a working woman with being a wife (and then a mother twice). I envy a reality where I could have had *a wife* in the classic, patriarchal definition. Outside of love and marriage – who, in their right mind would apply for this job?
And I am being petty and petulant and childish. Pouting. I wanted my Friday. And in the haste of trying to juggle the day, get out of the office, get to the 6:30pm meeting off-site, I have missed that there is no meeting. Now I realize I need a secretary in the vernacular of Mad Men or West Wing.
I pick up sushi for one – because the mister had solo dinner plans because I had a meeting until 8:30pm. And while I drive home I start thinking of the dishes and meals I want from restaurants that no longer exist. Dishes relegated to memory. And in a procession they fall into a queue.
The pickle bucket from Flynn’s Dixie Ribs
A nutty buddy from the ice cream truck
The Cheddar Carve from the Carvery
A sausage pizza from Sir Pizza
Chocolate rugalach from Pastry Lane Bakery
Thai fries from that little Thai restaurant in North Miami Beach
Coconut Admonition Cake from The Stono Cafe
Eggs Jaques at the breakfast place on King Street
Pineapple bread pudding from Market East Bistro
A toasted poppy seed bagel , scooped with tuna and Swiss from The Bagel Bar
Cafe au lait in a BOWL in the 18th Arrondissement at what we call the Poppy Bakery
Everyone has a list. Food memories that anchor to a time or place that provides happiness, security and assurance of being loved. Loved by parents. Silly with siblings or friends. Sheltered with mates enduring the same rigors and trials. A lover. A spouse. Everyone has a list.