The Best Medicine and the Bedtime Snack

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.

One response to “The Best Medicine and the Bedtime Snack

  1. Pingback: 180 | Dinner at the Country House

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