Yes, every post from now until September will be about Paris.

Although Chad and I have already paid for our Paris vacation in full, we decided that we do need to make a few sacrifices so that we can afford some proper meals while we're there. To this end, we have begun taking our lunches to work every day instead of eating out, factoring that we'll save roughly $60/week, or $240/month, or $720 total. Which, by the end of September, should equal roughly .5 euros, or one sip of wine.

No, really, all of these sandwiches should equal at least one extravagantly nice meal at an expensive, world-class restaurant that Frommer's recommends.

(In our house lately, quoting the Frommer's trumps quoting the Bible. And if I could quote the Frommer's in French, I'd never have to go to church again.)

So, every morning, whichever one of us ends up getting ready faster than the other (usually Chad, because, seriously, have you SEEN my hair?) makes two sandwiches. Since Chad and I work in the same building, at lunchtime we meet in the downstairs lobby, walk to the Dallas Museum of Art and eat our modest little sandwiches and a snack-pack of chips.

And this was working just fine, since I've always been a sandwich girl. Every day at noon nothing sounds better to me than two slices of bread with some meat and cheese slapped between. Maybe a little mayo or mustard. Maybe not. But the meat and cheese are necessary.

On Friday, we consumed our least two pieces of cheese. The plan was to go to the grocery store over the weekend, but no one in our house is fond of that particular chore. Chad and I sometimes go weeks without ever stepping foot in a grocery store. We get inventive with what we manage to find in our pantry. We eat crackers and mustard for dinner. Stale cereal. Toast and cinnamon. Pasta and olive oil. We forage for food in our own house, and on more than one occasion our friend Ryan has cooked dinner for us because he was concerned about our nutrition. But it is much, much better than driving down the street and just buying some damn food. It's how we keep our girlish figures.

This morning when I realized that we were out of cheese, Chad said that he was on top of it. And by "on top of it," he meant that he prepared us sandwiches with just mustard, bread, and ham. I thought it would be fine, but as the morning wore on, I began to dread lunch more and more. Finally, around 11:30, I IMed Chad.

me: It was very nice of you to make me a sandwich, but I have to admit that without cheese, I am not looking forward to eating it.
Who knew a slice of cheese was the difference between looking forward to lunch and dreading it?
chad: I suck
me: Maybe we could go to Subway and get a real sandwich, yeah?
chad: ok. I'm ok with mine though
me: You sure?
chad: ya. I mean what is cheese in the grand scheme of things
me: Cheese is everything. It is the key to happiness.
chad: wow
me: Apparently.
chad: alright

So we went to Subway, and it turns out that Chad wasn't okay with a cheeseless world, either. We split a $5 footlong meatball sub. With melted, gooey, delicious mozzarella cheese.

And all I have to say is, thank God there will be lots and lots of cheese in France.

Also, Chad's going to the grocery store tonight.