What a sidedish

I’m a sidedish. Note to Midwest Hick I started writing this before I read It’s Not Road Rage If No One Dies. That’s right, I’m a sidedish. I was talking to someone on IM tonight when I realized this. This person and I don’t talk often and I discovered that they wished we talked more. They have an extremely busy life. And I commented to them that I was a sidedish. In my mind, I was thinking their life was the main meal. It doesn’t matter how often I reach through this little window into their life because it’s not about me. Their child, their job, the person they are dating, their pastimes. Those are the main meal. The stuff you want to eat up and keep you going.

Watching your kids at excel at something and being able to praise them. (Hmm, twice in two days I’ve blogged a post with kids attached… someone rescrew my head on straight.) Getting that new degree that means you get to move into a more lucrative career field. Working extra hours and outdoing the other guy to get the ‘big promotion’. Seeing your parents celebrate another anniversary. (Not that I have this to see, but I can imagine it along with the best of them.) Getting up in the morning and looking outside at the day thinking to yourself… I’m kicking your ass today. Today it’s all mine. These are the meals of life.

If I was more arrogant, I might think I was the dessert instead of a sidedish. Something you don’t always need, but something you crave more than the meal you just ate. Oh, there is a nice image. I’m something rich and taken best in small quantities. Perhaps that is why I’m still single. People love me, but you can’t eat the whole thing. Hmm… going to have to forget I said that. My head would really swell and then I’d be truly screwed. Just imagine walking into the office with a swelled head. What would people say? Nothing. They would whisper behind your back because they are chickenshit. “Did you SEE the SIZE of his head? OMG… can’t believe his neck hasn’t snapped like a chicken bone. How do you think he lugs that around all day?

If I was Mr. Potatohead would someone put me back together again when I fell off the wall? Oh wait, that Humpty-Fuckin-Dumpty. And all the soldier men couldn’t put him back together again. Not really a sidedish commentary anymore is it? I’m off in Neverland (no, not Neverland Ranch you sick bastard) imagining things that aren’t real in any dimension except our fantasy.

By the way, a nice wine to have with me as a sidedish is a nice hearty California Cabernet. Go ahead, pop that cork, pour the wine into the glass to linger and breathe. Then sip and savor it slowly. Taste the finish in the back of your mouth as you swallow. Mmmm… Rapture. Repeat until the glass is empty. Enjoy your reading.