There was a pot luck lunch in my office today. I brought a sandwich. For myself. I don’t participate in pot luck meals. Crock pots containing mysterious substances intimidate me. Whatever is laying in repose in those aluminum pans may, in fact, taste good, but they appear to me like yet to be identified tissue samples. Some baked goods seem acceptable until I’m informed they are topped with cream cheese rather than frosting. Someone thoughtfully brought in a bag of Doritos, which proved to be a worthy accompaniment to the turkey and swiss cheese sandwich I made with my own hands. I won’t even get into the ridiculous number of condiments perched on the table ready to do battle with my senses. No, when it comes to pot luck lunches, I’m not gambling. But man, those brownies looked good. Crap! They were made with sour cream. The bastards! I’m out.