I was sitting at my desk at my place of employment earlier today when my cell phone convulsed in my pocket with a text message from Judy, one of my San Francisco soulmates, asking how my day was going.
"Aight." I responded.
"What would make it better?" she wrote back.
I thought about it for a second and then pecked out something sarcastic and whiny followed by "Oh, and chicken fingers." We went back and forth for a few minutes about nothing in particular and then our conversation ended. I returned to doing the things that I get paid to do until, about an hour later, a delivery person showed up at my office carrying with him a large paper bag from Proposition Chicken containing two boxes of chicken fingers and two boxes of French fries. Judy had had them sent over, via courier, from across town.
"Are you kidding me, Judy?!?" I messaged her.
"Love you, dude."
If ever anyone catches me complaining about my family or my friends or anything at all, I guess, I want them to print out a copy of this web log post, tape it to their clenched fist and punch me right in my big, dumb face.
How did I get so lucky?