Salad, constructed or not ( cuke spears, cherry toms.)

Also, froz (veg?) packs on your neck, head, wrists. Helps.

And ice cold wine.

Softer cheese like brie, cream cheese, or sour cream (which is not really cheese, I know) that has mold is something I'll toss out entirely.

Wait. People have cheese long enough that it molds? How?

I was an asshole today. and I didn't realize how much until I got home. All through dinner I had that itchy anxious feeling until I could apologize. Now I feel betterish.

I made the mistake of checking work email.

Now I want to nuke everyone from orbit.

Wait. People have cheese long enough that it molds? How?

Sometimes a hunk of cheese gets pushed to the back of the cheese drawer (we, uh, have a LOT of cheese in the cheese drawer, seriously...we might need an intervention), and if I forget about it and it doesn't manage to rotate to the front, it gets moldy. (See also, the Great "When Did We Buy Manchego?" Incident of 2013.)

People have cheese long enough that it molds? How?

Mostly by having rather a lot of many different kinds of cheeses at once and having one or two varieties get a little neglected.

I am hoping that vacuum sealing technology will help me with this problem.

Because i'm unlikely to just buy less cheese.

I mean, really, that's not gonna happen.

Step away from the email, sarameg. Retcon it away.

I have such a dilemma. I've found a lovely new fic. I'm very hungry. I have ham salad in the fridge, just waiting to be scooped into a bowl that I can easily bring back to the computer so I can continue reading the lovely fic. But I must stop reading the lovely fic to go get the food.

Fortunately I have broken away from the lovely fic to post my dilemma here, and if I am stealthy I can break away from the computer before my mouse hand can go back to the tab with the fic.

I had the most amazing lamb shank for dinner. Now I'm just waiting for the plane to push back. Not giving up my Internet until that door closes.

In asshole news, there were two guys sitting in the row in front of me, older dudes, just camping out in the extra room seats hoping no one would notice. This isn't Southwest, jackholes. Bummer for them a grandma, in a wheelchair, and her grandson had those seats.

Mmmm, lamb shank.

Enjoy your ham salad and fix, Connie (I assume you have successfully combined them by now).

Soon, soon my dinner will be ready. I'm certainly interested to see how it turns out. And hungry.

OMG I am so tired, I don't know how to keep functioning. Frances is almost done with her homework, thank goodness. Not sure how long I can keep up the stand-by support staff position.

I assume you have successfully combined them by now

I may even trick myself into getting second helpings.

The lovely fic has Bucky Barnes somehow transformed into a cat, which Steve has dumped on Tony with no time to explain things as he was off to hunt Hydra. So Tony, who actually loves cats, is catsitting what he thinks is a normal cat which unfortunately has PTSD and three legs. Bucky likes Tony, but the Winter Soldier is still in there, and he does not like being startled. The reader knows the cat is actually Bucky but doesn't know why he's a cat--yet.