23: I don't want a bra. I want a sandwich!

So, hubby and I met for a lunch-time appointment. I walked in the office and glanced at the clock on the wall -- I had just about 40 minutes before I would have to leave for work. "Hey, honey!" I said and hugged him.

He smiled. Gave me a nice hug. "I'm starving!" I said to him.

At that moment, I was so glad that we had that conversation -- the one about him bringing me lunch from home to the appointment so I'd be able to eat before heading back to the office. After 40 minutes, it was time for me to go, and he stopped me on the way out. "I brought that thing you wanted," he said. "It's in the van."

"Oh, thank you!" I said to him. With a rumbling tummy, I was so grateful. See -- I knew that I had a deadline to meet at work,and if I didn't eat now, eating was not going to happen. I knew I'd be working up until the last minute on this project, which was due by 5 p.m. SHARP.

And so, I stopped by the mom van, which he now frequently drives (although, I think he secretly loves it!) And I peeked my head in. "Where is my sandwich? ... where, oh, where?"

Well, the only thing that was sitting in the back seat was a bundled-up bra. I grabbed it and stuck it in my purse. He didn't even have a bag, I guess, since I have become the plastic-bag nazi around this house. So, I throw the bra in my purse and head back to work -- no lunch to fill me. And then I remembered that other conversation that my hubby and I had earlier -- the one about him needing to wash a specific bra for me because my back was really hurting and I needed it.

As I walked away, I was saying "I don't want a bra. I want a sandwich!" I quickly realized how silly I sounded, and was grateful that no one had been in ear shot.

So, he got it half right, right?

Back at my desk, I called him. "When you said you had it, I thought you were talking about the sandwich, honey. Not a bra!"

"What sandwich? he asked me.

"Oh ... never mind. Can you bring me some lunch. I can't leave ... on a tight deadline."

"I just got in line to pick the kids up (from school)."

Great. Just perfect, I was thinking. I'll just starve, whatever. And that's the moment an e-mail popped up.

"LEFTOVER PIZZA IN THE CAFETERIA. COME AND GET IT."

Are you serious?! Nice. Downstairs, and just a few moments later, I walked into a room with about 10 boxes of pizza sitting on a table. I grabbed a slice of the Supreme ... and later met my deadline at 4:55 p.m. sharp.