Wednesday, December 7, 2011

This Moldy Spaghetti Sauce is a symbol of my love for you. Or perhaps not.

When I see a ladybug I think of my cousin. She loves ladybugs. Even sports a tattoo of one on her foot. To me, the ladybug is a symbol that reminds me of my fun loving, not afraid to laugh out loud cousin.

When I see an apple I think of my aunt. Her kitchen was decorated with apples. Cheery red walls and apple topped canisters on the counter. I can't help but smile when I see a kitchen towel designed with a screen printed apple for sale. There's my aunt. Right there.

My relationship with Big V has symbols, too. 


I remember when Big V finally got around to putting up the shutters. The house had just been painted and those shutters were the first step in our process of beautifying the outside of our home. Don't you just love the shutters? I'd swoon. Big V put them up just for me!

Those shutters were a symbol of my knight in shining armor. The man I would happily be marooned on a desert island with. Those shutters showed the world that he was my one, my all, my everything.

Relationships, like life, have seasons.

Currently we're in the Symbol of Spaghetti Sauce Season.


Six days ago, I lovingly prepared a boiling pot of water and dumped some pasta in it before rushing out the door to get to my curtain call in time. I had exactly 27 minutes between arriving home after work and hustling out the front door to get to the show. In those 27 minutes I chose to feed my loving partner.

After quickly applying another coat of mascara and brushing my teeth, I managed to drain the noodles and take out a jar of sauce. Now, let me explain. This is not just any sauce. This is my secret sauce. As in I want to make you believe I can cook so I'm gonna use this $8 jar of sauce that seriously tastes like heaven in a jar. Or, as it's more commonly referred to: Big V, you have no taste buds of which to speak so there is no way in hell I'm wasting this phenomenal $8 jar of sauce on you. Go get the Ragu. 

But I felt bad because I haven't been home lately and, well, he was agreeing to actually sit through my show later... so I set the jar on the counter and said, "Here. You can use some of this - BUT REMEMBER TO PUT IT IN THE FRIDGE WHEN YOU ARE DONE. If you don't, I will have to kill you."

The next morning I saw the jar - half used - still sitting on the counter.

My wonderful, beautiful, heavenly Victoria Arrabbiata sauce - left to rot alone on the kitchen counter.

"Uh, why is this still here?"

Oh. I must have forgotten it. I'll put it back in the pantry.

"It can't go back in the pantry; it's open. You have to put it in the fridge. I told you to put it in the fridge. Why isn't it in the fridge?!"

Fine. I'll put it in the fridge.

"You can't put it in the fridge!"

You just said to put it in the fridge.

"Yesterday. Yesterday I said to put it in the fridge."

No. Just now. Just now you just said 'put it in the fridge.' You said it like thirty times. How can you not remember?

"How can you not remember I said it last night?! This was my only jar of good sauce - and now it's filled with germs and eColi and the Black Plague!"

It's fine.

"No it is not fine. It says right on the label to 'refrigerate after opening.' That means, after you open it - you put. it. in. the. fridge. It's not that difficult."

Well, since it's not that difficult maybe you could figure out what to do with it.

"Me?! You're the one that should have to throw it away now that you wasted it!"


And so it sits.

On the counter.

Where it has remained for the past six days.

Getting moldy.

A jar of spaghetti sauce symbolizing the stubborness of the active participants in this relationship. (Although, he did admit that it was one mighty fine jar of sauce.)

What's your symbol?

6 comments:

HeatherB said...

OMG. Funniest thing ever.

The symbol of our love right now is the 4 empty boxes of cereal sitting on top of our refrigerator. They are empty, the should be thrown away. I do not eat cereal. I get tricked every Saturday and Sunday when I try to make Z some breakfast.

And there they sit, waiting for someone, anyone to finally throw them away.

Tina, said...

Right after Husband and I got married, his only job was to take out the trash. One night after refusing to do his job for him as I had for the last so many months, I piled every bag, box and container of trash outside of our apartment directly infront of the door. I expected he would arrive at the door and then take the time to carry all of the trash to the dumpster. I was wrong. Husband opened the door and stepped over two weeks worth of garbage to get into the apartment.

Brenna said...

Sometimes I pretend I don't notice the rock solid dog crap under the dining room table until Steve picks it up.

Phoenix Rising said...

@HeatherB: the amount of "there's at least two spoonfuls of cereal in there so why should I have to be the one to throw it away" would astound you. Let's not get started on the empty koolaid container in the fridge.

@Tina: and you didn't murder him? You are a stronger woman than I!

@Brenna: HAAHAHAHAAAA!!! Excellent plan. Does it actually work?

Franny said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Franny said...

Let me try this again. My last comment was confusing. Twist tie. That's the symbol. If Husband opens something new, like something with a cord, the twist tie from the cord will be left of the floor or nearest counter, desk, etc. Note: twist tie should have been thrown away. If Husband opens something like a loaf of bread or a bag of buns, the twist tie will disappear. Probably, it's in the garbage. Note: this twist tie is still needed to keep food fresh. Yes, we have actually had a tiff about twist ties, because, as I explained to Husband, they are a SYMBOL of the way he does things 'round here. Your blog post will give me a chance to now laugh and *then* henpeck about the miss-placed twist tie. I guess I should just use to saved twist ties (ones left on floor, counter, etc.)to close the dang bread. It works out somehow, just like Husband and I do.