Sorry, Gentle Readers. It has been a while. The day job took precedence. But I’m here now.
The crazy train of winter seems to be slowing down for a stop at the spring station. Nowhere near as awful as last in terms of snowfall. Cold, but at least the roads were clear. It’s sunny today, but the wind chill’s unbearable. Oakley walked me this morning. He’s still pretty wiped from the play group yesterday, so I don’t feel too guilty.
Today’s rant is brought to you by the buffet restaurant that we went to on Sunday. I never would have gone there on my own. The husband in the couple we pal around with loves buffets. OK, fine. I don’t mind Indian buffets. The food can sit without adverse effects. I don’t like Chinese buffets. That was not designed to sit on steam tables. I can find ingredients to make a salad if need be, as I was able to at this all things to all people place.
Problem was that we arrived at the worst time possible when everyone was making their post-church visit. I do not like crowds to begin with, but I felt as if I were going to have a panic attack. I was able to keep breathing. We (four adults) were squashed between two parties of at least four adults plus enough children to populate a day care center. At least the kids respected our space as much as possible, so the parents get stars.
While the food was pretty good, the atmosphere was entirely too loud and bright for my taste. I managed to stay in my adult self and not hide under the table or take my plate into the ladies’ room for a bit of peace. Salad, chicken (albeit twice as much as I really should have had), some veggies, and a couple of strawberries dipped in the chocolate fountain kept me within my points for the day.
I tried to focus on my plate. Really. Tried not to stare at the overfilled plates, the bussed dishes with so much waste on them. Struggled to tune out the unconscious conversations, the negativity.
For so many people, Sunday buffet dinner is the high point of the week. I know that. The feast-or-famine mentality still pervades our culture, our collective thoughts.
I struggle to stay in a place of non-judgement but find myself falling from it. People all do the best they can based on their preferences and experiences. I appreciate good manners, but am as guilty as the next person of eating in front of the TV when I dine solo.
Does the desire and passion for a meal eaten in peaceful surroundings with conscious gratitude make me a snob? So be it.