Feed a Fever

Rhett,

As you may or may not know, I have been fighting a particularly virulent bug for the past week or so. I missed work last Thursday and slept away most of the weekend. I thought I was OK to be at work today, but while you were ineptly flirting with a patron at a pious pizzeria, I was staring blankly at my computer screen, a sweaty, shaky mess.

Since Tara was also home sick, I was able to implore upon her to pick me up from work so I could finish my day from home. Once we got there, it became clear that neither of us wanted to prepare anything for lunch. I tossed around a few suggestions; she tossed them out. Eventually, we struck upon the curative potential of Middle Eastern cuisine.

I don’t know if you ever made it down to Tazza in Bridgeland when you were living in the Rotary Manor, but to my mind, they serve the finest shawarma in the city. Since Tara had come to pick me up from work, I was tasked with picking up lunch.

Despite arriving in the midst of the lunch hour rush, service was quick and pleasant. I got a large shawarma for myself with everything but banana peppers, a regular with everything for Tara, and a small tabouleh salad for us to share. I had it all bagged up to go and was home within a quarter hour. We ate in front of the television beneath a heavy blanket. As I headed up to the office, I wished I hadn’t promised to work from home that afternoon.

Feeling better already,
Brendan