BEDRIDDEN LIFE
Scraps, Intermittent Gorging, and Texting Jesse Watters, Etc.
Or Tweets, let’s be honest
The Fourth of July will be coming up in the US. If you live in America, please don’t do what I did one year, which is to leave your apartment in New York on the Fourth in the late afternoon to drive back to your hometown and instead arrive in a different town right when the fireworks have ended and then find yourself driving in reverse the wrong way out of a crowded parking lot at an unreasonable rate of speed while your wife yells at you to avoid the oncoming crowd of people walking to their cars and, distracted, accidentally take some guy’s mirror off with your Ford sedan and then leave a note on the car in the pouring rain for the owner to call you and, the next day, meet him in a random parking lot in the next town, he arriving like Ace Ventura with his arm out the window holding the severed side mirror up in place, to deliver a personal check to settle outside of insurance.
If there’s not much to eat in the house, you can’t just complain about it; you must use scraps to make something. Take a breakfast sandwich I made the other day, for example. Sure, it was on the lighter side. Still, it was constructed mainly of scraps — a leftover piece of prosciutto, the bottom layer of the spinach bag, a stray mushroom, one egg…
