I realized yesterday that we had very little food that actually combined to make anything in the house. I do have stuff to make black beans and rice, and even tortillas, but since Mr. Pea wasn’t going to be home until late, I didn’t think the tortilla part would really make it until then. So I ordered some tasty Thai take out. Feeling a headache coming on, I ordered it at 7 and retired to the couch to watch the Sox. The lady who took my order said it would be an hour, and asked if I’d rather pick it up. I said no (my Flintstone-mobile–ie, my feet–were in no mood for the mile walk), and waited. And waited. And at 8:20, I called. The woman explains that the driver was not in tonight, and that the cook would take it over soon. A few more minutes, she requests. Fine, says I. I eat some goldfish, watch some tv, and wait. At 9, still no food, and I’m about out of fish. I call back to cancel the order, and she hollers that he’d just left! Just wait! And ten minutes later, he finally shows up. He actually arrives at the same time as Mr. Pea returned, so that worked out well. But really, two hours for take out? If she’d told me they’d likely be busy and an hour was a hopeful estimate, I’d have told her to forget it. If she’d been honest when I said “A few more minutes, or a half hour?” I’d have been relieved! All’s well that ends well, but the lesson is learned. When feeling lazy, sometimes you’re better off with cereal.