No Joke

 

You guys ready to laugh tonight? ‘Cause I sure hope not. If so, then you’ve come to the right place. I don’t have any prepared jokes for my set. I just have a long list of things I need to get off my chest. Starting with this dollop of salad dressing. Did I hear a chuckle? That wasn’t a joke. I have a not insignificant amount of Balsamic Vinaigrette on my natty blue blazer. 

The reason is I’ve given up sandwiches, opting for a breadless existence, full of verdant bowls and greener, is not for health reasons. I got too spooked seeing moldy loaf after rotten baguette baking in the noon sun. They’d sit there, frying on my windowsill, something I found it harder and harder to stomach. I tried at first to power through and eat it, figuring there’s a whole line of fancy cheeses based on the principle of mold. I guess it’s different for bread. Whatever you say, you can’t say I didn’t try. 

So here I am, picking salad greens and bean sprouts out of my shoes and teeth. I started opting for paisley and other loud patterns, combatting my inability to finish a meal with wearing some of it home. First it was a radish flower in my jacket pocket, then a bunch of micro greens in my hair, like a latter day Roman emperor. What if Brutus and his co-conspirators had used salad forks instead of knives? Caesar might still be alive today. Ferns, Roma tomatoes, country markets…

I still don’t know where I stand on bread sticks and croutons. Seems to me like a loophole in the  diet. But restaurants don’t always say they’re there.  I won’t resort to picking them out like a spoiled child. I just won’t do that. 

It’s not so bad, the balsamic on my shirt. I should’ve known better. It is called dressing. I feel much better telling you this. Like a great weight has been lifted off me. Or it could be that the liquid has fully seeped into my clothes. One or the another. 

There were more subjects I intended to get to tonight, but I’m getting the light now. Maybe I’ll get a pilot or an HBO special out of this. You never know.