The undocumented evils of the Chinese buffet

If the claim for Saturday was that there shall be no rest for the wicked, yesterday was the exception that proved the rule. I had grand plans for the day, truly I did. I was going to buy and lay some mulch. I was going to clean the kitchen floor and do a bunch of laundry. I was going to measure the new space to my backyard for a hammock. I was also going to put down a couple of thousand words on the novel. As with all grand plans, though, mine was only good until the sun actually crested the horizon.

As it turns out, I took a nap. My shame is very great.

Things started off well enough, but I decided to be lazy, and rebuffed the Puddinette’s valiant efforts to get me out of bed at a decent time. Eventually I saw reason and got moving. We then decided to hit the Chinese buffet for lunch. That turned out to be a mistake of epic proportions. I was all about it, of course. I had a hockey game and few lunch options make for a better pre-game meal (for me) than excessive amounts of rice and skewered teriyaki chicken.

The Attitude, however, was not down with the whole idea.

The Puddinette got him a plate of assorted toddler-friendly things as soon as we sat down: cheese, bread, pizza, bananas. He was interested in exactly none of it. I then made the monumental mistake of thinking I could walk away from the table to assist the older boys in their filling plates while perhaps picking up a dumpling or eggroll of my own. My youngest son apparently took this as full-blown abandonment and shrieked in horror that I would desert him so by leaving him with his mother and sister.

We had to pull the old, one parent retreats to the car while everyone else finishes routine. God bless the Puddinette for taking it for the team and sitting in the van while I quickly consumed soup, rice, and various stir-fried tastiness. I got a fortune cookie for her, though, and a to-go drink. So that makes it up for, right?

By the time we finished, my stress level had uncharacteristically passed through the stratosphere and was headed into low Earth orbit. For me, that typically results in a stress headache. Stress headaches make me unhappy and largely useless; and not just day-to-day-standard-puddin’ useless either, I mean trying-to-dig-an-in-ground-pool-with-a-teaspoon useless. Such headaches also give me a vampire-like fear and loathing of daylight. Because she is a genuinely sympathetic person (and also because I tricked her into believing she wants me around for some reason), the Puddinette instructed me to lie down and rest.

Who was I to argue?

So instead of accomplishing the many wonderful things I had planned for yesterday, I ended up taking a long afternoon nap and a couple of ibuprofen. The nap, surprisingly, did little to help the pain in my melon. The ibuprofen, though, worked wonders. By dinner I was back to being me again and all was well. I was right as rain in time for my Sunday night hockey game. Which is good; napping through some yard work and household chores is one thing, missing the old-guy hockey league would have been wholly unacceptable.

The moral of the story is that the Chinese buffet will ruin your day. Also, my youngest son will be dining at home until he turns 16 and can drive himself.

pud’n

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