I went to a Chinese restaurant after shopping at my favorite Asian grocery store in Frederick. This restaurant was packed on a Saturday night and I felt guilty as the server led me to a booth by the window - prime real estate for just me. I ordered the hot and sour soup and feeling queen-like, an order of szechuan broccoli, extra spicy, if allowed. I snacked on the complimentary cucumber pickles and hot mustard while sipping on the tea. I watched families navigate one another, older couples eating their orange slices, first dates and teenaged girls on a night out. I watched plates of food and bowls of soup descend all around me. Hungrily, I kept snacking on the cucumbers wondering where my bowl of soup was. (Oh, the injustice of patiently waiting!) Finally, my server came with my giant plate of steaming broccoli and mushrooms. "Where is my soup?" I asked like a child. "Oh, I am so sorry. I forgot it!" Oh well, no big deal, I guess. I don't need it. Envy filled me as I watched a father receive his bowl in front of me. I ate the broccoli, but honestly, it was not as tasty as others I have had. It was slightly sweet with hints of peanut butter. I filled up as much as I could, still wishing I had some soup and then asked for a to-go container.
When I got home, I threw my styrofoam box's contents in my pot of Friday's leftover soup. "The gravy will add nicely to it," I thought. I will have my soup after all.