I was at the eye doctor yesterday, spending far too much on glasses and contacts (haven't had new glasses since 2001, or contacts since 2003) and I glimpsed the future, at least for my neice A. The woman helping me pick out the least ugly frames that fit within my vision plan's allowance looked and acted almost EXACTLY like A, 10 years older than she is now (I figure the woman to have been in her mid-20s). Actually, the tech who took a bit of joy in running me around to all the various diagnostic machines looked a lot like my next-youngest sister S. Speaking of the diagnostic machines, how cruel is it to give the clicker for the retinal-mapping machine to the patient? You've got the tech standing behind you, with your head in her hands, and she's manhandling it around until your eye lines up just right, and then she tells you to push the button, which rewards you with a bright scanning beam of green across your eye. Very Star Trek, except for the manhandling.
As of this morning, I've recovered from my weekend of badness. Back down to 340. If the math holds, I should be 335 by Sunday morning.
I'm all for supporting local businesses, at least morally. I haven't done a very good job of supporting some of the businesses in the shopping center around the corner from my house, and they've suffered for it. The coffee cafe closed (to be fair, I don't drink coffee, and there's a Starbuck's with a drive-thru across the street), and the mom-and-pop barbecue place closed (a shame, because the food was actually really good, and I did eat there a few times). So, in the interests of not contributing to the demise of yet another, when my brother T came over last night to work on his D&D character, I suggested we eat at the little Mexican place that opened not to long ago. I've eaten there a few times (Daughter has decided she loves the quesadillas), and I can eat "lean and green" there without undue guilt.
They almost lost a customer last night. In the past (and I should point out that I'm not enough of a regular that they'd recognize me yet), I've gotten the taco salad and just avoided eating the tortilla bowl it comes in. Now to me, that seems slightly wasteful if Daughter isn't around to lay claim to it, so when T and I went last night, I ordered the salad with chili colorado as the meat, and without the tortilla bowl. The clerk was very accomodating, if a little ditzy, but when she relayed the order to cook (who may or may not be the owner), and he heard that I didn't want the tortilla bowl, he kinda gave this digusted look. Now, maybe I inadvertently insulted him because I said that I didn't want them to go to the trouble of cooking something that I wouldn't eat anyway. I know the clerk seemed to misunderstand that, thought I was shunning it because I didn't like the taste, and tried to assure me that she's had it and it's really good. I've tasted it, and I know it's really good. But it's not on my diet. After the dirty look, the cook guy (this is a small restaurant, so the whole staff mills around the kitchen area, which is in the main part of the restaurant) asks if I'm not having the bowl, how do I want it? I said, "on a plate, or in a to-go box, or whatever", trying to imply that I didn't care, as long as something separated my salad from the table, floor, and effects of gravity. He then seemed to think I'd changed it to a to-go order, which I had to assure him I didn't not, but that I didn't really care whether it was in a bowl, or a plate or, barring those, a styrofoam container. The food was good as usual, and I've decided that as of this post, I'm letting the dirty look go, in the interests of this place keeping what passes for a regular. Next time, I'll either bite my tongue and let them waste the tortilla and oil, or I'll make it clear that it's a dietary restriction. I have to wonder what kind of dirty look I'd have gotten if I'd said nothing, and left the tortilla bowl untouched on the table as we left?
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