I went to lunch with a coworker today (I kind of had to, even though I’m considering never eating again after this week) at the Cheesecake Factory, ordered the chicken salad sandwich, only ate half, and put the other half in a box to bring home. And then I left the box in the car. For four hours. In this crazy heat. And then I remembered it and threw it away.
Good story, right? Here’s another.
Every once in a while, we find a peanut hidden somewhere in the yard. Not hidden very well, actually, but you can tell it’s supposed to be kind of out of the way. Once there was in a flower pot. We found another one in a crack on the steps to the porch, and today John found one in the mulch under a bush. And when I say peanut, I don’t mean one that’s ready to eat. We’re talking circus peanuts. Bar peanuts. Still in the shell. Like Mr. Peanut, but without the top hat, cane, and monocle (more’s the pity). So…we think we have an industrious little squirrel or chipmunk or something, hiding peanuts away for winter. We have no idea where the peanuts are coming from.
Maybe it’s not a chipmunk. Maybe, just maybe, there’s an elephant tiptoeing around our yard hiding peanuts. And maybe it’s invisible. And silent.