Diana makes me my lunch every morning. I'm not quite sure why, but I don't complain, and she keeps doin' it. I think she likes making sure I have a nutritious lunch every day. And it saves money. And she knows I hate getting up any earlier than I have to, and since she's up making her own lunch, she might as well slap together another sandwich and some chips and an apple. Anyways, it's great. I hope doing the dishes and emptying the dishwasher is a fair trade.

Sometime recently, though, she asked me how my lunch was. I said it was fine. She giggled. I asked what was up, and she admitted that we'd run out of lunchmeat the day before, and today, my sandwich was just cheese, lettuce, onion and cucumber. No meat.

I was mortified. A vegi-ma-tarian sammich?! ME?! Unthinkable. Even more unthinkable was the ruse pulled on me by my own wife!

I usually eat my lunch in front of the computer at work, doin' stuff, so she could put just about anything in there and I probably wouldn't notice. Oh well.

We have good laughs about it now, though.