Tuesday, April 12, 2011

Karen Ann Was Already Taken

I've taken to stopping by the prepared food section of the grocery store on my way to the salad bar as I head home in the afternoons. I still make my lunch for the following work day salad but a couple of weeks ago I stumbled across a Reuben sandwich on what I call panini bread that spoke to me. Really, it did; it said 'hey, homie! Eat me.' So I did, that very same evening.

It was delicious and encouraged me to look for it every afternoon ever since. My efforts have not yet been crowned by success, and I fear they never shall. I was home yesterday for medical testing, a carotid scan (I do not enjoy listening to the sound of my own heart pumping or to my blood coursing through my veins and I definitely don't like looking at the movie on the monitor that goes with the soundtrack). Afterwards stopped at the market and decided, as a consolation prize for lunch, to have a honey ham on panini bread sandwich. I always warm them in the microwave, even the ones with lettuce. It was good but it was no Reuben.

Our daughter, Michelle, who has her mother's pragmatism, suggested I stop fretting about The Last and Lost Reuben and ask the deli counter folks if they can just make one for me. Great idea, unless they say no and then what? I'm a half full glass kind of guy; actually it's more of a paper cup than a glass. And, in the interests of honesty, I should point out that I like Reuben sandwiches but there's no need to open a can of sauerkraut just for mine, if you follow. Her point is without the sauerkraut, it's not a Reuben. Okay so maybe I like a Ben. But I live in hope at least until around four this afternoon when I pass the sandwich case and experience the universal kiss-off that I can call it whatever I want.

Apropos of what's in a name, my wife showed me a Facebook online ad and I confess to NOT remembering what it was about but I do recall the name of the spokesperson, 'Celerie.' I'm sorry but what the f(iretr)uck is the matter with this woman's parents that they sort of named her for a vegetable some nutritionists see as structured water locked into a vegetable matrix (to my mind, this easily explains Keanu Reeves) that many of us will only eat when covered with ranch dressing or peanut butter. I was so inspired, I suggested we consider having another child and, were he a male, calling him Russell Sprouts. Her counter proposal involved my being hoist by something other than my petard, rendering procreation moot.
-bill kenny

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