More dread of dreads. The company Thanksgiving luncheon. Everyone brings a dish to pass. Sounds lovely I guess (this is my first year of this, as I have only been at this job since late last December). I am supposed to sign up to bring something - something fabulous no doubt.

People in this office bring in beautiful things all the time. They make elaborate cakes for each employee on their birthday to share with the office. Some good ole fattening lusciousness I tell ya.

Problem is I have a night job too. A really busy, encompassing one. I am very very careful to never give the impression that my moonlighting ever impacts my day job. And I hate to shop, grocery or otherwise.

Oh and there's also another problem - I hate to cook. In fact I suck at it. I am dealing with some talented folks who so ruin the curve for people like me who consider saltines and beer separate and important food groups unto themselves.

My mother's generation fought for equality. I do not want that to be in vane. I want to be equal to so many of the men I know who just come home from work some nights, watch hockey and eat foods that might be consider bar snacks for dinner. I fact, I am really good at that. It is fulfilling merely because I am home, my puppy is at my feet, hockey is on and beer is plentiful. I am a cheap date. I do not wish for more. I want to be the 1950's male.

I have no desire to strive to be better, to be everything. There is a great David Shire tune in the musical "Baby" called "I Want it All" sung by characters wanting to be everything - career women, mothers, role models.

But I do not want it all. My mother's generation would likely not be happy with me. My gene pool will never replicate. I do not wish to download recipes and bring creative things to work to impress my co-workers. My idea of creative is creatively choosing something at Delish. I am happy with that.

Maybe I'll bring some Delish cookies and claim I made them.