Tuesday 200 — one hundred twenty-four
Why couldn’t she make her own lunch? (Is this a Tuna 200)
What in Cher’s name is a Tuesday 200?
Oh fuck, Daisy thought, chomping her tunafish sandwich, I forgot to tell mom it’s vegetarian week at school.
Oh fuck, Mom thought, grabbing anything for Daisy’s lunch, wondering if Missy thought she was old enough to swear, why’d couldn’t she make her own?
Oh fuck, the personal shopper thought, seeing a shelf void of StarKist canned-in-water, thus faced with deciding which foil-packed replacement to pull that wouldn’t screw up their 5-star rating.
Oh fuck, the Kroger worker thought, wondering how many pre-packed tuna flavors suburban soccer moms truly needed. In his day, it was Chicken of the Sea, like it or lump it.
Oh fuck, the pregnant fish-packer thought, choking down another bout of morning sickness while wading through tuna entrails.
Oh fuck, the fisherman thought, worried today’s haul wouldn’t be enough to feed his wife and 3 kids, and another on the way.
Oh fuck, Charley’s mate thought, that was a really bad choice, biting into this chum-laden hook.
Oh fuck, Charley the tuna thought, watching his chum get fished out of the sea.
Oh fuck, it’s fishing season, Charley’s mom thought, as her boy swam off in a school of friends.
😂