ham chunk

Ok, ok. I'm going to give this another shot. Another kick in the ass. Goddammit. Ok, what inane thing can I blather on about?

The fact that I hate the word luncheon? How it's just a snooty word that implies it's something more special and festive than a simple "lunch"? When in fact, all it means is that somebody will probably get up and say something demoralizing or stupid followed, maybe, by tepid, bored applause?

I recently hosted such an event for my editorial board, comprising all rich old white doctors.

You can imagine the hilarity as they shared a joke about combination therapy for multiple myeloma. Ha!

..no. There were no jokes about multiple myeloma. There were no jokes at all. Just a couple of tables of rich old white doctors telling me how I could do my job better.

The good news is, I didn't embarrass myself, and I was taller than 95% of them, which kind of gave me the gravitas I needed, as a lowly English major in a room full of rich old white doctors. Being taller also placed my cleavage a little closer to eye level, which drew attention away from the fact that part of my chocolate peanut butter tart had made a home in my lap. Ah, yes, what a delicate, well-mannered flower I am.

Anyway, it went ok; nobody got hurt or offended, or choked on a ham chunk--the missing part of the definition of a successful luncheon.