Salads

I like eating salads. I don’t like making salads. That’s odd, isn’t it, as really there’s not much to it and there’s nothing to cook. Somehow the task of putting together lettuce, tomatoes, carrots and nuts (I like cashews) seems burdensome. I try it every once in a while. I buy the salad items, take them home, put them in the refrigerator.

From that point on, the salad ingredients are invisible to me. I can’t (don’t) see them when I open the refrigerator door wondering, Do I have anything to eat? Occasionally I will accidentally discover them when I open the bottom drawer — Hey, salad stuff! — and I’ll have a salad for supper.

Unfortunately, the next time I accidentally discover them, they are visibly biodegrading. I need to shorten the time between my accidental discoveries so that I’ll eat more salads at home, but I haven’t figured out how to do that. The result is that I take the ingredients out to the compost pile and put “salad stuff” on my shopping list yet again.

I have two new plans for helping me with my salad-making issues.

Plan A: Post a note on the refrigerator door, something akin to “Salad Inside.” That may work, that may not work.

Plan B: When I come home from the grocery store and before I go into the house, take out the lettuce and throw it onto the compost pile. Just skip the lettuce science experimenting in the refrigerator altogether.

Postaweek2011

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