We pulled it out of the refrigerator’s bottom drawer aka the “Crisper.” Obviously something had gone seriously askew.
Whatever it had been at one time, it was now a swampish bag of goo. Forty shades of swirling green ziplocked in a plastic bag which moved of its own volition.
“Look,” I said in hushed terror. “It moved. It’s alive! Run, honey, run! Save yourself! Remember, I always loved you!”
I threw myself over the bag and that’s the last I remember of having my own identity. I call it the time before The Other.
Yes, it was time clean out the fridge. Household rules dictate that when we are unable to squeeze a single item in without something else being displaced and bouncing off our toe on its way to the floor it must be time.
Then my wife made another shocking discovery.
I love leftovers. Leftovers are foods that you cook once and eat twice (or more). After the first meal, the low-effort bonus rounds begin. That’s what it’s all about: Low effort and delicious food.
In a time too distant to remember, my wife made a pork chili verde dish. It was fantastic. There was some we couldn’t eat. We put this in a container and put the container in the fridge. It’s the job of the fridge to keep food safe until the earliest possible moment I can shove it in my face.
But as we shut the door something else happened. We forgot.
By the time of our next meal we had the “what do you want to eat” conversation.
“I dunno,” I replied. I had forgotten about the chili verde! So we looked at each other, shrugged, and seamlessly switched over to the “where do you to eat” conversation.
And so it was, like Aztec peoples literally unable to see the ships of Cortez out on the ocean, that the chili verde container became invisible to us. At every mealtime I would look and ignore that which my heart desired most of all.
So it wasn’t too surprising that when my wife pointed out the chili verde, celebrating it’s second birthday, my response was a typical, “Noooooo!” Yes, it was just like seeing Obi-Wan sliced in half.
My brain knows that the fridge is supposed to be a storehouse for leftovers but somehow when it’s time to eat my pushy stomach takes over. Desire suppresses reason. I am an animal.
Oh food never eaten
New levels of despair
Leftovers undigested
Cruel life – so unfair!
On the bright side, though, at least I have a new pet. And he eats anything. “Sit, Blobbie, sit. Good boy.”
Shouts from the Abyss 