Atonement

Dear Schwan's Man,

I am sorry for getting so upset at you the other day.  I could have sworn your delivery date was Tuesday, not Wednesday.  I hope I didn't make you feel too badly.  You have to understand - I've been hurt before.  I've tried to go to the Portland Farmer's Market on a Sunday.  I've tried to go to Gartner's on a Monday.  I got scared, that maybe our serendipidous first encounter was too good to be true.  I hope you know how excited I was to see you arrive right after me in the evening, and how much I needed that Caramel Cashew ice cream to keep me from stabbing myself in the eye with a spoon (it was a bad, bad, rotten day preceeding it). 

Tonight, Schwan's fish sticks and homemade tartar sauce.  I remember mixing up tartar sauce in my mom's kitchen on fish stick night, chopping pickles as small as I could make them and whipping them into a frenzy with mayo.  Grown up additions - fresh lemon, and a splash of Tabasco sauce.

In other news, a skirt that fit me two years ago no longer did this morning.  Damn it.  Something must be done - but then, who wants to read about my microwaved Smart Ones and half-cup allowance of couscous alongside a couple pieces of steamed chicken?

Hmm.  This is a problem. 

I will think about it while looking at the beauty that was my Monday night salmon.  Fresh, fruity and moist, like olive oil with a flesh.  Salmon, skirt.  Salmon, skirt. 

HMM.