A girl on crutches starts placing importance on ridiculous things like restaurant delivery orders. It's the easiest way to spice up her life. She can't exercise--except for hopping up the stairs on crutches. She can't drive to Anthropologie to sniff the candles--no driving. And, it's nearly impossible to scoop a bowl of coconut milk ice cream cause with her metal arm-legs, she's hand-less. Her restaurant delivery order becomes her way of interacting with the outside world. Tonight, she's going to India.
She knows two things about ordering Indian. 1. Stick with a Tandoori entree if she's going to stuff her face with Naan. 2. Steer clear of Makhana. She intends to look up the cuisine of the southern state of Andhra Pradesh, but gets sidetracked googling: "Indian cheese cubes." It irks her that cheese cubes are listed in the salad description. Are these cheese cubes like the ones found on Costco trays? Or more like curdling lumps? Finally, she calls the restaurant, delivery menu in hand. She delights in how Indian restaurants delight in the word delight. She is told to hold. She hears the cacophony of fifty dates in the restaurant's background. It's a popular restaurant. That's a good sign. She marvels at technology like google, the cell phone, and the ability to pay people to arrive with food. She's thankful she'll be eating Indian takeout in pajama pants with an elastic waist. It's the little delights. The man on the other end of the line takes her order. Then, he tells her it will be fifty-five minutes. FIFTY-FIVE minutes! GOOD GRIEF! She hangs up. And then, she realizes that it will be something to look forward to and asks her husband to go ahead and bring her a bowl of ice cream. She'll have dessert first while she waits for the world to come to her.