Nate asked if he was supposed to get me jewelry after I give birth. (Huh?) I don't care. But what I do want is a bottle of wine and a tuna sandwich. I miss you both so very much. (Tuna is loaded with Mercury. Not-yet-born people don't like that.) Strangely, it has been harder not eating tuna than not drinking alcohol. (Though watching Nate "drink for three" hasn't exactly been a treat.)
Tuna has always been my go-to lunch. As a kid, the family would order a pizza and I'd opt for a tuna grinder (that's Massachusetts for big sandwich). In college, the caf lady remembered that I was the one who liked muenster on my tuna sandwich. (They had no cheddar.) Even now, colleagues make fun: "Let me guess. You wanna get tuna again?"
Now, my lunches are filled with confusion. I wander the streets, trying new places, hoping to find something I want. (Unlike most New York women, I do not consider a salad lunch.) Today I ate cold asparagus soup, two portobello mushrooms, and three hard boiled eggs. What the hell was that?