When Life Gives You Lemons (and Limes, and Cilantro), Let Someone Else Make the Lemonade (and the Pico de Gallo)

Friday, Cafe Rio-type salads were sounding good for dinner. So I: seasoned/cooked/shredded the chicken cooked the rice and beans minced the garlic washed/chopped the tomatoes/peppers/onions/jalapenos/cilantro squeezed the lemons/limes blended/bottled the dressing washed/shredded the lettuce mashed the avocados cooked the tortillas assembled the salads set the table

and sat down to dinner, thinking about what a terrific value restaurant food can be.

We finished eating and I: cleared the table loaded the dishwasher packaged the leftovers washed the slow cooker/salad spinner/knives/cutting board/saucepans/blender/electric skillet ran the disposer swept the floor wiped the counters refilled the water pitcher

and went to return it to the fridge, thinking about how my feet hurt and how glad I was to be about to leave the kitchen . . .

and found this magnet of unknown origin* staring back at me.  As if to taunt me.

*Yes, its origin is clear, but it was new to our fridge door. Most likely suspect: Zuzu, pocketer of all things free.