I just ate the Messiest Hot Dog of the Month. (thus far. I hope.) And it was delicious.
I’m coming down with a cold, so I said to God last night, “God, what am I supposed to do about this?”
And God said, “You need to take care of yourself, young woman.”
And I accused God of siding with my mother. And then I determined to skip History of Argentina in favor of sleep. And then I slept until nearly noon. It was glorious. God was right. (Probably Mom, too.)
Anyways, I did eventually get dressed and head off to African American History, and then realized I hadn’t packed a dinner. That shouldn’t be a problem; I’ll likely get free pizza on break tonight at work. My rumbling tummy reminded me that it would be another 4 hours until said pizza occurred. So I stopped at the BYU bookstore for a bagel.
The bagels were gone. I retraced my steps to the food court (where they stash a backup supply of bagels). All the good kinds were gone there, too. So I went to buy a donut. The line was too long. So I headed back for the bookstore. Changed my mind. Went back for the donut. Waited in line about 30 seconds. Changed my mind again. Went back to the bookstore.
And that’s when I saw the hot dogs. Oh, glorious day, there were hot dogs! I have this weird tendency – when I’m sick – to crave hot dogs. But I only crave them when I’m starting to get better. So I took the hot dogs as a good omen, and promptly bought one. I put ketchup and mustard on it. And hot sauce. And then sauerkraut, and a pickle, and some chopped tomatoes. That hot dog was like a taco salad. I had to clean off my hands in the snow when I was done… and then clean off my face with my hands… and then clean off my hands again. My entire jaw may be tainted orange with mustard. But I regret nothing. That hot dog tasted like happiness. Yum. ◊