Well. It's over. We have survived another Christmas season. The tree is down, the decorations are packed up, and we can breathe a sigh of relief. The crazy rush of buying presents, tackling wrapping paper, and attending a never-ending barrage of social obligations has come to an end.
It was a bitterly cold Tuesday morning in January, 1985. The school buses hadn't arrived yet, so the halls of the Smiths Falls District Collegiate were quiet with just a few early arrivals trudging towards their lockers. I was one of them.
I have developed a number of obsessions over the years. While mastering the art of spiralizing squashes or memorizing the 50 US states in alphabetical order has given me some sense of accomplishment, my latest passion is proving much more worthwhile. I have become obsessed with getting rid of excess material things. And it feels awesome.
When it comes to restaurants and other eating establishments that feed the public, society is somewhat picky. You will never find a cat on the counter at Harvey's. Your Whopper will never be prepared by a toddler's sticky hands. Your Subway fixings will never reach room temperature. And your Big Mac sauce will not be expired.
When it comes to restaurants and other eating establishments that feed the public, society is somewhat picky.
When one is about to embark on a rant, it is always a good idea to reassure one's audience with a series of platitudes designed to lure them into a false sense of security.