It was another late evening. She’d had an unexpected hour-long interruption in her workday, which meant rescheduling a tech-support appointment and taking a much later train. Worse still, the support was unsupportive; and, worse than that, the lack of support came from a company known for products that don’t need support because they just work.
She stood at the refrigerator, displaying classic signs of a terrible trifecta: tired, hungry, and indecisive.
“Eggs and grits?” I asked.
“You don’t have to make me dinner.”
No, but I could start the process, and that might help. I took the jar of grits from its shelf; she brought the eggs from the refrigerator and took over. I looked for something that would make us both laugh. (My day hadn’t gone so badly, except for a frustrating recording session in which I proved less-than-able to sing on pitch; in any event, no day is so good that it can’t be improved by laughter.)
“Could we have more episodes of the game show?”
I had something else in mind, a segment I’d read about from a comedy news show. A segment about Ayn Rand, of all things. She wasn’t sure it would be funny. I haven’t read Atlas Shrugged or The Fountainhead, but I know we both like this show’s smart writing and delivery. She gave me a crash course in objectivism as we took our bowls upstairs (my eggs topped with a dab of her well-traveled salsa). One video led to another, and unhappy hours were forgotten.
Some days end with ice cream and poetry; some, with scrambled eggs and late-night TV. Sometimes, we don’t want a snack at all. When the day’s cares are set aside, dreams are all the sweeter.
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