I considered it but there wasn’t anyone around to applaud me.

I was planning to have a light salad for lunch, so I loaded up with six hard-boiled eggs for breakfast. For the next three hours, I just thought about how good eggs are (e.g. deviled). I ended up having eggs for lunch.

I was about to head to the salad place but got caught up reading the Wikipedia page for pepitas. When I looked up, it was already noon, so I assumed the salad restaurant would be prohibitively busy with all my fellow health-nuts. Dipped some pretzels in mayonnaise instead.

I ordered a kale Caesar. As I lifted the fork to my mouth, a strange force pushed it away. It was my left hand as if to say “Not today, righty, not today.”

I had only good intentions, but a colleague dropped the bomb that Bones had been pulled from syndication. How could I eat a salad on a day like that?

I got close but then recalled the romaine-linked salmonella outbreak of 2013. That was only eleven years ago!

Just when I thought I had consumed a salad, someone corrected me. Turns out I had buffalo shrimp. I often get the two confused.

I passed the salad place and said to myself, “Tomorrow!”

I passed the salad place and said to myself, “Tomorrow!”

I passed the salad place and said to myself, “Not today. Today is Tuesday. Tacos.”

I preemptively rewarded myself with a Dorito™ before venturing out for my salad. Never had I seen so much cool ranch on one chip. I chased the thrill through three more bags. Didn’t much feel like salad after that.

A salad? After Labor Day? I don’t think so.

On my doctor’s advice that my “cholesterol is alarming” and that I needed to “think about my children” and that I “shouldn’t bring queso fundido to a medical office,” I went to get a salad. But as I was preparing to order I thought about how I didn’t appreciate that doctor’s tone very much.

When I sat at the table with my colleagues to eat my salad, I yelled really loudly that Evan, the intern, was “on fire over there. Holy shit.” When they turned to look I swapped the salad for a cheesesteak. When they turned around (Evan was still QUITE unattractive but certainly NOT on fire) I just stared at them, crying, while cheese dripped down my cheek and into my greying chest hairs.

A salad? Before Labor Day? I don’t think so.

I got to the counter and told the cashier I wanted a salad. “Which one?” he asked. I pointed to the backlit menu behind him and said, “That one, number 9.” Then I winked. He said, “Sir, number 9 is an Italian hoagie.” I winked again and said “I don’t know what you're talking about, I’ll have that salad,” wink, “number 9,” then winked four more times. He said, “I don’t understand why you are winking at me while pointing at that sandwich. You are making me and the other customers uncomfortable.” I swiped some meatballs as I was escorted out.

Just before I placed an order on Grubhub for a classic Cobb Salad, I overheard a colleague referring to her burrito as “orgasmic.” Wanting to know what an orgasm feels like, I ordered a burrito.

I got distracted while reviewing some paperwork for a gym membership and completely missed lunch. Ironically, I didn’t even sign up for the gym. The application didn’t specify whether blue ink was acceptable and all my black pens were in another room.