Patience and Saliva

I swam at lunch on Monday-- we had a workshop, so no students all day-- and on the way back to school I stopped to pick up lunch, and though I was pressed for time, I decided to forgo the robotic convenience of ordering a sandwich at WaWa, and instead I patronized a local place in Milltown; I had to wait in line, and it took a long time for them to complete my order, and I was ravenous because of my swim and the several hours we spent poring over the National Core Standards, so--naturally-- when I got in my car, I tore open my "Grand Canyon," a turkey sub loaded with roasted peppers and marinated mushrooms, and took a bite to appease my hunger, but then I made one of the most civilized and refined decisions in my young life . . . I decided not to shovel the sandwich into my mouth as I drove because I didn't want to get oil all over my shirt (there were some cute grade school teachers at the workshop) and because I wanted to sit in the sun and actually enjoy the final minutes of lunch . . . so difficult as it was, I re-wrapped the sandwich and started driving-- and, of course, I got behind an old lady and hit every light, and by the time I got to the school I was drooling like one of Pavlov's dogs-- but I was still extremely proud of myself; I felt mature; I was able to delay my gratification and enjoy my food . . . this is a big step for me and let me offer an example as to why: a number of years ago, after a long car ride to Nags Head, when Whitney and I stopped at Petrozza's Italian Provisions for a rare authentic Italian sub south of the Mason Dixon line-- which we planned to eat on his deck while looking at the Atlantic Ocean-- instead, in a wonderful instance of simultaneous unplanned gluttony-- we both finished our gigantic sandwiches before we even reached the car . . . and-- as Whitney recalls-- we had a pretty good parking spot.