Today I had my last class of the semester, excluding parties. I finished my only final and I only have three written projects to complete before being done with this year completely. I then went to sell my books back. I didn’t get a lot of money, but I got enough to pay for end-of-the-year shindigs and to treat myself to Chick-Fil-A. Everybody loves Chick-Fil-A.
It was a welcome change; lately most of my meals have been an attempt to use up the ingredients in my kitchen. This has meant a lot of tuna sandwiches. A lot of egg salad sandwiches. A lot of tuna-egg salad sandwiches. With all these shredded-fish-and/or-egg-based sandwiches I need mayonnaise.
Mayonnaise is great. Mayonnaise is what makes a really great fish/egg sandwich. And unfortunately, we’re almost out. But I still have around four hard-boiled Easter eggs to go through. I really don’t like straight hard-boiled eggs. But mix it with mayonnaise and salt and pepper and tuna and mustard and celery seed and it is fit for royalty. Some kind of folksy royalty.
We don’t have enough mayonnaise to make my delicious sandwich. We don’t want to buy more mayonnaise because we’re leaving in a little over a week and can’t use a whole jar. What choice do I have but to take a handful of mayonnaise packets with me?
All was well and good until I looked up from stuffing mayonnaise into my bag and see a young gentleman staring at me with a mixture of amusement and disgust. Then he turned to his friend and said something like “Dude, did you see how much mayonnaise that girl took?” or perhaps “My goodness, that girl certainly enjoys mayonnaise!”
I was very tempted to follow after them and say something along the lines of “Pardon me, sirs, but I’m taking these mayonnaise packets for future sandwich fixins. I’m not going to be spreading all of these packets on my single chicken sandwich.”
But I didn’t.