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.
