Whomever I’ve dated in the past should consider themselves pretty lucky. I’m cheap.
As I’m sitting here eating my lunch, I’m discovering that I enjoy ramen noodles (or a healthy equivalent) much more than some sit down lunch at a fah-fah-fah-fah-fah type place. With me it’s just add water, zap it in the Radarange, and viola, instant goodness.
A rather uppity restaurant opened up recently across from my office building. Everyday I walk by en route to my car to go home for lunch with my gray and orange lunchpail from Target in tow. I’ve noticed a couple of glances in my direction as I walk by and I can just hear the fancy business suited woman sitting in the window with her $10.00 sprig of lettuce and $5.00 glass of mineral water. “He carries a lunch pail. Let them eat cake. Must be he can’t afford a place like this.”
Who would want to?
If I’m going to slap down some dough for a lunch, I want it to have some substance to it. I don’t need food that dances. I don’t really care about presentation, as long as its recognizable and not a color like fucia, it’s edible. And whether it’s a sandwich, a burger or a soup and salad, it better fill me up but good. I have no need for my taste buds to be tempted by some exotic spice that’s probably going to give me hives or the runs. When it comes to food, kiss (keep it simple stupid). I think that’s why Earl and I gravitate toward diners when we’re on the road, the food is relatively inexpensive but wonderfully good and doesn’t have all the attitude that comes along with an expensive meal.
So to the fancy woman in the restaurant window with entirely too much Aqua-net in your hair, I can hear your little snarky laugh. And I don’t care. I’m proud that I’m a cheap date. Don’t let the exotic spices catch up to you!
