So, I go to lunch, with my boring pasta and I'm-too-lazy-to-cook-real-food tomato sauce (not, like, ketchup. Like, canned toms, onion and olives) I'm thinking 'boring boring boring.' I open the fridge. It's filled with food. Filled. E, who I mentioned in passing in the previous post with a dash of bitterness for never giving me her movements, had catered for a seminar we held here last night. She cooks the best middle eastern food you'll ever eat, and she always over caters.
Lentil soup (which I did not partake of - I am still a bit iffy about lentils. My parent's lentil craze went so far as to include lentil pizza and I'm still not over it) meatballs, rice (stir fried then steamed, for extra fluffiness, with noodles and slivered almonds) roasted vegetables, and, to top it off, jelly and custard cake. It's like trifle, but without the space-wasting sponge cake (lowest form of desert ever) Soooooo yum.
I came back from lunch satisfied and full. More than that, though, I came back relaxed. I spent 45 minutes in a room full of warm sunlight, good food, and happy women. We chatted and laughed and ate and I feel so rested that it's like I've had a good long nap.
I love my place of work. Now, if only no one will ring it for the next three hours, it woud be perfect.