Lunch in a Lingerie Bag : The Inside Story

I started carrying homemade lunch to work around a year ago and have since reaped the weight loss benefits that go with it. I'm afraid , however ,the benefits stops there.

Now people - invariably men -  often ask how I could bear to be seen lugging a lunch box to work. That's easy. You don't care about such things by the time you are my age. Not even when you unwittingly end up carrying it in what turns out be a lingerie brand shopping bag (" A downmarket Victoria's Secret" giggling young colleagues inform me gleefully). Big deal !

No. Underwear , inexpensive or otherwise, is entirely inconsequential when you have to worry about what awaits you during the lunch break :  the flood of dourness, the squall of staidness, the blizzard of boredom, the apocalypse of dullness, the perfect storm of doom and destruction packed in plastic.

That's harsh, I know. The ladies who prepare my lunch are wonderful people and are very good cooks too otherwise. And to be fair, around half the time give or take - well, okay, more give ! -  their packed lunch is pretty good too.

No, it's more the philosophy of it, the feeling that life with all the promising bang of its fits and furies has come to an end in the whimper of chapattis and dal. This is how religions must have begun. Tied to a spouse, a house and a job is one thing, tied to a lunch source quite another. God is in the retail , the Good News on a menu , Nirvana in the promiscuity of food options. Lord , why have you forsaken me ? And also, Lord, why cauliflower again ?

Now excuse me while I go heat up today's. Rice and dal if you must know. Dessert : yogurt.

The absolute end.