The Moose Mistake

When the Groucho's Deli waitress brought my moose sandwich to me I took one look at it and knew I had screwed up.

It was roast beef.  I haven't eaten red meat since 1980.

That's 38 years.  XXXVIII in Roman Numerals.

See?  I may be old but I still remember my Roman Numerals.

(Except L.  Is that 50 or 500?)

I looked at the menu and quickly discovered my error.

"I messed up," I announced to Dave.  "There are 2 kinds of moose sandwiches and I ordered the wrong color.  This is the Brown Moose."

So I went to the counter and told Groucho Girl about my mistake and that I should have ordered the Pink Moose.  I had my moose within minutes.

I was halfway through my Pink Moose when Dave said, "That looks like ham.  Maybe you should have ordered the White Moose."

I stopped chewing.  I didn't know whether to swallow the pink moose in my mouth or spit it on the plate.  The pink glob went down my throat like a bowling ball. 

I looked down at the plate.  OMG.  I had eaten half of a damn ham sandwich.

My stomach suddenly hurt.   And Groucho Girl was headed my way.

"Don't tell her," I whispered to Dave.

But Dave was having too much fun with my moose mess.

"She ordered the wrong moose," he told Groucho Girl.   "Again."

"I forgot my reading glasses," I said, as I slipped my reading glasses into my purse.

Dave and Groucho Girl enjoyed a laugh.  At my expense.  She offered to make me a White Moose, but I told her I was no longer hungry.

After all, I had just eaten half of a cute, little, piggy sandwich.



I hoped that I wasn't going to get ill.

And I didn't.

Big sigh.

It has been 38 years since I have eaten roast beef.

And III days since I last ate ham.  

Which looks a hell of a lot better than 3.