For instance, last Thursday when I drove up to Taste of China, because I prefer their cream cheese wontons over China Garden’s, I was determined to get out of the car and walk in the door and eat like a king.

Except I had left my wallet at the house.

Which then led me to this realization: I’d not had my wallet with me all day long. I’d driven over a hundred miles to and from work without money, ID, a license, that one piece of Wrigley’s I leave hidden in the pocket behind the checkbook “just in case,” nothing.

I had driven naked, essentially, the entire day. Because without proof of who I am, who am I, in the eyes of the law? I am nothing.

I am the self-appointed King of the Buffet.

I subdued my onset of sudden panic by stating the obvious – I’d made it back home without any emergency. Well, except for the fact that I was hungry and in the mood for Chinese and was in the parking lot, feet away from All I Could Eat of Tofu and Broccoli and Avocado Sushi.

Then, my panic was replaced by sheer anger.

I was so mad at myself because I had, unwittingly, put myself in a dilemma. Do I drag myself through evening traffic to retrieve my wallet, which I was sure that Lazarus, the hell-cat-though-since-entering-her-first-“heat”-has-turned-a-la-angel, had already knocked off the buffet and pulled under the couch to her nesting area where she’s begun collecting the things she kills, be that a wallet or the unfortunate lady bug, an infestation of which appeared overnight, it seems.

Or, do I just go home and cook.

Incidentally, I love to cook. I really do, but there’s just something so American and justified in saying, Not tonight, dear, I have a checkbook.

I drove home, needless to say, and punished myself for forgetting my wallet by staying home and not driving back to the restaurant. However, I forgave myself a few minutes later and ordered in, but still, the sting of my self-imposed punishment lingered well into my Egg Drop Soup.

I wish I knew why I was so rigid in my thinking as regards a simple turning around of the car and going back to get said item, or items.

It has a mind of its own.

But, wherever it came from, it’s deep in there. I’d rather drive off, (foolish, I know), and leave that one suitcase, that book I was wanting to read, the airline tickets, that winter coat despite going to the mountains in the middle of Christmas, or the directions to where I was going in the first place, than to simply stop and go back.

I guess I’m a real boy, after all.

Although, I mean, let’s be honest, a wallet doesn’t really fit in this category of What You Can Get By Without. You need your license. You need your money. And after class, today, I discovered there was something else you also need, according to our Modern Standards of Living: your cell phone.

I admit, wholeheartedly, that there have been two occasions in which I’ve forgotten my cell phone, and I did go back to get it, but in both situations, I’d not even turned out of the driveway.

This is just a slight aggravation. Not a reversal of events.

The student who missed class today, though, informed me that she’d gotten almost to the campus and remembered that she’d left her cell phone charging, and simply had to turn around and get it. I mean, what if she’d had car trouble?? (She’s on the cusp of having missed too much class, so she must have car trouble a lot, which certainly would raise the level of importance of needing a cell phone at all times, right)?

It was hard to argue with such logic other than to point out that being nearly on campus means You’ve practically made it, and will probably be fine!, but then turning around to drive back to get a cell phone on the off chance that you might not have made it, wouldn’t necessarily be the smartest thing to do…regardless of car trouble.

The problem in her logic, I’m afraid, runs a lot deeper than a dead car battery. Per se.

The issue wasn’t that at all, though, in actuality. It dawned on me during her explanation why she’d missed the entire class, which logically would lead you to assume she wouldn’t have risked if she hadn’t lived close by.

Don't leave home without them.

Yet, as is so often the case, logic and the educational system don’t like holding hands; they’re not that big into the PDA.  Especially when coming from the point-of-view of the student.

See, she was a commuter to the campus; she didn’t live in town, it turned out. (Nor do many others, but still). She came to campus only twice a week from a small burp down below Meridian, some tribal church community hidden in Lauderdale County.

Now, let me put that in perspective for those of you not familiar with Mississippi geography, though shame on you, all the same, for not being proficient in it – basically she drives over seventy miles, one way, twice a week, and today, gets nearly to the campus, before deciding she simply had to turn around and drive all the way back to get her precious cell phone.

And, of course, as you could guess, by the time she got to her house and laid hands on the phone (long enough to at least call me and explain herself),  “ the class was over and really what was the point of coming back at all, then?”

 She only had the one class on Mondays.

I told her to talk to me next week; if I had any sympathy to give, it’d be then.

She said, in all sincerity, “But…next week’s Thanksgiving. There are no classes.”

I told her I knew that.

Then, I wished her a good one and said, “Teetle.”

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• It doesn’t matter because we’re eating Chinese food.

See how it mocks me with its tongue?

And I love me a good Chinese fortune cookie. I live for them; I just don’t eat them – in case they come true. The only reason I frequent any Chinese buffet, though, even the one in Dekalb, is for the sole purpose of receiving, $9.00 later, that little baked, folded, American invention we call the Chinese fortune cookie.

I guess there’s a little of Ya Ya in me, after all.

Because of her, I reserve a small portion of my spirituality for the sake of superstition. It’s fun. And she taught me that anything worth doing might as well be fun or lead up to it. Let me give you an example: I must have been nine or ten, and I was sweetly feeding the squirrels and birds in the front yard, down at Fish Camp, when out of the clear, blame blue swooped a hawk. It flew straight down and killed a redbird that was calmly eating, right in front of my face.

I stood, transfixed. Trying to scream, my mouth wide open, but nothing was coming out. Ya Ya had actually seen the whole thing from the garden, and came running to me, arms stretched out. She carefully explained how Things Work, and we cleaned up the mess and made a fan with the remaining feathers.

Of course, I never get anything worth anything from a fortune cookie.

They’re never really useful or inspired, it seems. Usually, they’re throw-away advice only, or trendy refrigerator art, like my macaroni Ark of the Covenant that I made for U.L. in Vacation Bible School, in second grade.

Rarely, do I get a fortune cookie with something I can walk away with. Yes, yes, a few times, I’ve gotten the old, ubiquitous standby, “You’ll be surrounded by great wealth.”

But, that hasn’t happened yet…unless you count that time I met Michael Eisner, when I worked for Disney. But, his knees were bent by dollars earned from my hard work…which rubs a little of the shine off, for me.

Mostly I get stupid ones, funny but not encouraging, not uplifting.

What I long for is the day I get a fortune like, “Beware the man two booths over. He’s wanted for identity theft in eight states,” OR, “This date is a loser. He lives at home and is allergic to squash. Get out.  Now.”

 I mean, those are good fortunes. That’s what I’m looking for. Something that would or could make a difference in my life, such as maintaining my own identity and finding someone who will appreciate a good squash casserole. A lot of the world’s problems would be resolved if we could just do these two things, I think. I mean, identity is everything, and squash—well, I’m sure I don’t I have to tell you all about the virtues of squash.

After last Thursday, however, I may be inclined to accept the quality of the Chinese fortune cookie based on its entertainment value alone.

And that brings me to Amanda, the case in point.

He has found enlightenment and a good buffet.

Amanda and I are known to be Buffet Buddhas. We divide our time between the two good Chinese buffets in town with the devotion of a nervous monk. And when we can’t go because of the weather, we make them come to us. We order in. We wait. We get excited. We polish our own personal sets of chopsticks and make our own hot sauce (well, Amanda does). We settle in on the couch, and again, we wait. We talk about the food, like we’ve never tasted it before. We wonder if they’ll forget the steamed dumplings this time; if they have shrimp toast, still; if it’ll be late, like it always is; if they’ll want to come in and pet the dog, again, just whatever, until the food finally arrives.

Then we lay back, and shoosh the cats and dog out of the way, turn on the TV, and watch whatever’s on. We don’t even care what’s on.

It doesn’t matter because we’re eating Chinese food.

It’s that good. (And I can’t tell you why; I don’t know why). I certainly didn’t grow up eating it. I don’t even like half of what’s on the buffet, but you see, it’s that half of the buffet that I do like that matters.

Last Thursday, though, was a good weather day, and so we decided to go to them, instead. We chose the buffet out towards Wal-Mart, so you know we were committed to have to drive that far.

We took plates and plates of our favorites: the Broccoli Cheese Thing, the Cream Cheese Thing, (NOTE: these are really just my favorites), the Egg Omelet Thing, and so on.

I was in heaven, or wherever Buddha lives, is it Shanghai? I was in heaven or Shanghai. The point is, I was there, and happy to be so.

And then came the fortune cookies, nestled on a little black, plastic tray. I grabbed mine.

I opened it and read: “You’re a good person. Thank you.”

Touching, but obvious.

I eagerly stared at Amanda until she put her fork down (just one little bite of Meat-Wrapped Shrimp Thing left!) and made her open hers.

I’m so glad I did.

Hers said: “You are capable, competent, creative, and careful. Prove it.”

Prove it? I mean, ouch.

Here she’d had such a long day, and now her fortune cookie is yelling at her? I laughed so hard I spit my cookie out. Well, what was left of it.

I hope someone invents a self-cleaning house, soon.

And every day since then, just to make sure she doesn’t forget, I’ve told her at least thrice a day to do just that. As a matter of fact, no matter what she says to me, or asks of me, or talks about, or references, I merely wait until she’s through and say, very plainly, “Prove it.”

She went on and on Sunday about cleaning the house, the house needed cleaning, etcetera, etcetera, I just stood there and when she finished said, “I agree. Now, prove it.”

I’m just hoping she won’t resort to her fists to do the proving.

Not that I’d blame her.

I never know when things get old. Ooh…wouldn’t that make a good fortune?

“Your joke is getting old. Change it.”

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