love language

It seems that people think my love language is food.

I'm working nights again (just two more until I get to see daylight), and I guess all my friends decided I might need a little help in the eating department.

It started while we were getting report. Beth, PICU nurse extraordinare and former Team Greg-er, quietly informed me that there was a plate of the famous Sajj Chicken Bread (so good it needs to be in capital letters) waiting for me in the ICU. My mouth, I must admit, starting watering immediately.

My next visitor was Maria, my lovely Kiwi roommate. She slipped in behind me as I sat at the desk, finally looking at my charts after almost three hours of non-stop kissing and cuddling and laughing with my small friends. Sporting our co-owned dalmation-spotted vest (a piece of clothing which only narrowly escaped a sad demise in the boutique), she came bearing halloween candy corn and christmas gingerbread cookies.

Once Maria had left and I was finally getting some charting done, my boss/friend/altogether awesome Red snuck through the door with a bag of golden oreos. We may or may not be convinced that golden oreos are made with illegal drugs (coughcrackcoccainecough), and we may or may not be addicted to them. But this is Mercy Ships, so I'm sure everything is actually on the up and up.

Todd, the nurse I'm working with tonight, looked at my growing pile of provisions, shook his head and disappeared to go do some work of his own. At which point the door opened one last time and Murray, receptionist-turned-writer, entered bearing a plate of ribs from Man Night. I thanked him profusely, closed the door behind him and burst into laughter as Todd came around the curtain and joined in the hilarity.

We will not go hungry tonight.