Mr. Turkey Meatball, I salute you

It was a long, stressful day. I went out after work to meet someone and unwind a little. Three vodka cranberries, two and a half hours and no dinner later…

Yet another bizarre cab ride home. Some cab drivers are super nice, some are completely cold and then some are just plain weird. This guy fell into category #3. He decided to impart upon me his philosophy of dating and relationships. I’m thinking, well this should be good! I could use some advice. Who couldn’t… you know? Well, it wasn’t as enlightening as I had hoped. He ended up telling me that, in essence, nothing matters when it comes to dating. Looks don’t matter, personality doesn’t matter, humor doesn’t matter, chemistry doesn’t matter, money doesn’t matter, religion doesn’t matter, etc. He went on and on. What’s your point, I asked. Nothing, no point, was pretty much his answer. So I should just give up on dating then? Great. Ok, how much will that be?

Very anticlimactic, and depressing.

So I walked into my apartment, my stomach craving some sustenance and my head full of bad cab driver memories. There was nothing in the fridge, so I opened the freezer. Aha! Millions of turkey meatballs! It was like a moment of intense clarity, a light at the end of a tunnel, and, of course, the perfect 10 p.m. snack. Mr. Turkey Meatball (pseudonym Aunt Judy), thank you for YOU. You are a life saver. And not the fruit-flavored candy, either. No, you are the kind that actually “saves lives.” I need you on that wall (random movie quote). Your fried turkey and vegetable goodness simply hit the spot. Both my stomach and my head salute you this morning. And I salute you forever. Mr. Turkey Meatball, this one’s for you...