Tuesday, we ordered boxed lunches again from the restaurant whose boxed lunch comes with a gigantic cookie. My anorexic mind thinks of it as the kind of cookie Godzilla might eat after an entree of human flesh. My reasonable mind thinks, "WTF is your deal, man?" Nevertheless, Round 2 of the epic duke-out goes to me. I ate the chocolate chip "treat" first - before sandwich or chips. I enjoyed its texture and taste (chocolate chip cookies were a favorite of mine in a past, less complicated life) but pretty well forgot about it once I moved on to the main event. That's right: Neither of us - my sugary opponent nor me - holds a title belt. No championships hang in the balance. We swapped our pugilistic licks before all your guests arrived for the marquis match, the one you dropped $59.99 to see. Our promoters still work nights at Publix; our trainers still bum cigarettes from the mothers with whom they live.
But, we're making our way up. I believe I am, at least.
